So June
by bana05
Summary: In which June lasts longer than a month, whether Mercedes and Sam want it to or not. Not every chapter is canon-compliant, but most are. Will include GLEE S5 spoilers.
1. So June Mercedes

And _Glee_ still isn't mine; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem on the show with Puck and Sam duking it out for the position of head harem boy or, at the very least, we would've seen something of the Samcedes relationship and Shane wooing Mercedes. But alas. Here's the start of a potentially _Glee_ S3-compliant interpretation of events through Samcedes!goggles. I promise nothing on the longevity of this; also, I regret nothing. Please forgive errors and enjoy!

-bana

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><p>"'So June', huh?"<p>

Mercedes glared at the gchat window that suddenly popped up on her screen, then rolled her eyes when the video window appeared and her computer began ringing.

"So you saw the JBI blog, huh?" she typed. "Good. I'm over you, Sam Evans. _Over you_."

"Turn on vidchat, Mercedes," came the reply.

"Hell to the no!"

"I got somethin' to show you…"

"Nasty."

"You like it when I'm nasty."

Mercedes bit her lip and huffed. "_I moved on._ Didn't you hear me? I got a new future now!"

"Mercedes. Video."

She was playing with fire, but she was already burned, scarred, and trying to move on and heal. But that was her hand using the mouse to answer the video call and that was her heart constricting when Sam's face appeared in the tiny window. He was smirking at her, his green eyes dulled from the lack of light, and he was shirtless.

"What do you want?" she asked abruptly, going back to attempting her precalculus homework. Why the guidance counselor thought she should take this extra math class she'd never know. Singing didn't require derivatives…

"Has he kissed you yet?"

"You don't get to ask me that," Mercedes said.

"Has he touched you?"

Mercedes just arched an eyebrow at him and didn't answer.

"But he wants 'cocoa babies' with you?" Sam asked skeptically.

"Damn, boy, how many times you watched the video?"

"Enough to know you're a liar, Mercedes Jones."

Mercedes threw down her mechanical pencil and glared at him. "_Excuse me_?"

"You haven't moved on. Not from me…not from _us_; but luckily, few people know you well enough to be able to tell the difference…including your 'future'."

"And you know me so well? We were barely dating a month!"

"And yet even Jacob knew about us and nothing about—what's his name?"

"You don't need to know his name!" Mercedes snapped.

"Don't worry; I'll just find him on Facebook."

"Samson Evans—"

Sam's eyes flared. "And I'll tell him about that spot behind your left ear that makes your body shake and that you do arpeggios when you're about to—"

Mercedes closed the window, breathing hard as if she'd just run a hundred-meter sprint. She gulped and licked her lips, shoving a hand underneath her scarf into her hair, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened. She'd promised herself she wouldn't be one of those weepy girls when love didn't work out, and the universe had been kind, presenting a new boo to her three weeks after Sam had left. He'd swept her off her feet, treated her like a queen, and she _could_ see a future with him. Maybe not the one she'd initially planned, but it would do.

"I never showed you want I wanted to show you."

Mercedes shook her head and typed, "I don't need to see it, Sam."

"I'll e-mail it to you," he replied, undeterred. "I know it's late there so…goodnight, Mercedes. And he better keep you smiling as brightly as you were in that video. _That_ part wasn't a lie, and even I'm man enough to admit that."

Mercedes took a deep breath, not wanting to be touched by that but she was, so much so that she quivered as she typed. "You don't get to tell me that."

"LOL, yeah, I do. Just because I'm not with you doesn't mean I can't care about you. Or that you don't care about me. Still."

Then the bastard went offline right as a new e-mail appeared in her inbox.

Mercedes glanced at the gchat window that was open next to Sam's, where that conversation had ended with an "I love you" for the very first time. His reply, not hers. She'd been in the shower when it'd come across and he'd been "offline" by the time she'd returned to her laptop.

She still hadn't said anything in response.

She closed the lid on both and went to bed instead.


	2. So June Sam

What Sam's take could've possibly been upon seeing the infamous JBI video. Rating mainly for language. Please forgive errors and enjoy!

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><p>"<em>So June<em>…"

Sam supposed he deserved that, even if his lip curled and his grip on his guitar tightened so hard the strings scraped against the frets. He breathed measuredly through his nose and set his guitar carefully on the bed before replaying the Jacob Ben Israel video again.

"_So June_…"

That would forever be one of the worst months of his life. He'd thought it would be December, when his family had gotten an eviction notice underneath their Christmas tree or even February, when his relationship with Quinn had met its demise and he'd risen from the wreckage by dating Santana. Actually, more "messing around" with Santana, but she wasn't super bad all the time. She was a damn fine kisser and had a really nice ass.

Didn't compare to Mercedes' rear, though…nothing could. His baby _got back_—

Not his. Not anymore. Fucking Tennessee.

And to think a year ago he'd been upset he'd had to leave the damn state. Now he was back, not even two neighborhoods away from where his old house used to be and attending the public school he would've attended had he not gone to the all-boys school before moving to Lima. He'd already had friends at the school, old flings he hadn't thought about since the moment he'd strapped in to drive the pick-up truck full of things that couldn't fit into the U-Haul his father had driven or the minivan his mother had. He hadn't known what to expect, and certainly hadn't anticipated one Mercedes Jones.

He'd actually gotten to know about her through Quinn, when, during those rare occasions, she would open up to him about her pregnancy, or "The Ordeal" as she'd called it. Only two people had ever made Quinn's voice modulate from flat desolation to wistful affection—Beth and Mercedes. He'd only ever asked once why they barely spoke anymore. Quinn hadn't given him straight answer in reply, but he'd known not to broach the subject again. Yet it was because of that tone Sam had started paying attention to Mercedes at all—well, that and her singing…and her body…

Curves. Curves for _days_. From her cheeks when she smiled to…erm…the rest.

He liked how she was often the voice of reason with a 'tude, until it'd turned on him that one time in glee. He hadn't liked it very much then, extremely hurt she thought he could betray people so easily until he remembered they hadn't really known each other well at all. But she'd apologized in her own way—sending over a tin of her cookies and offering to babysit when Quinn couldn't. They'd broached a shaky yet tentative friendship from that apology, which had become the topsoil needed to help the seed of attraction inside of him grow into something much more.

Then prom had happened, and that seed sprouted. It was then he realized just how fragile Mercedes was underneath all that sass and swagger, hiding it behind a mighty talent and mighty personality so well few bothered looking beyond the surface to see it. He could admit without Quinn's initial clues, he wouldn't have been able to spot it, either.

Mercedes hadn't liked he could see that deeply inside of her and had tried to close him out, but Sam wouldn't let her. In New York he'd declared himself to her, in an alleyway near their hotel, and had been the first boy to ever kiss her lips. And truthfully, he wouldn't have had a problem being the last one to do so at all.

But God had had other plans.

His father had been blessed with his old job and no one could say no to that. Sam had been a coward and not told Mercedes, leaving her to find out through the glee club grapevine, and she'd cussed him out good in the motel's parking lot the night before he'd left. Then, she'd broken up with him, claiming she couldn't trust him and had known he'd leave her all along.

"Granted not like _this_," she'd said on a derisive snort, her jaw tight and mutinous while her eyes gleamed even under the dingy parking lot lights. Not a tear fell, however.

She'd never been more beautiful to him, and Sam had thought that all kinds of fucked up.

"You thought I would leave you," Sam had said carefully. She'd refused to verbally confirm that, just tilted her chin higher and gritted her teeth harder. "Have I done anything to make you think I would?"

"Other than date the hottest girls at McKinley or wait until _now_ to tell me you were leaving? I don't need your pity, Samson Evans!" she'd snapped, her voice quavering just so. And he'd realized that had it not been for this past month and a half of getting to know _all about her_, he would've never recognized that break in form. He'd heard her voice do that before, though, just now he knew why it did.

"Of all the things you have of me, Mercedes Jones, 'pity' ain't one of 'em."

She'd squeezed her eyes shut then. "Sam—"

"And you're the hottest one of all, Mercedes," he continued, stalking closer to her until he was in her face. "And now _I'm_ fucking pissed because I won't get the chance to walk through the halls with you on my arm or kiss you by the lockers or serenade you in glee. Some other fucker's gonna get to do that, because now we're broken up and I'll be hundreds of miles away and you'll be here, fierce and fabulous, and nobody can resist that."

"They _have_," Mercedes had mumbled.

Sam had gripped her chin firmly and brushed his mouth against hers. "They won't now. You're different. I unleashed your genie, lady."

She'd rolled her eyes and tried to hide her grin, but Sam had smiled and kissed its appearance upon her face, humming the Christina Aguilera tune all the while.

"Stop making me smile! I'm mad at you," she'd demanded.

"I'm mad at _you_. I don't want to break up with you."

"Be realistic. We _are_ broken up. Whether we want to be or not."

He didn't want to be realistic. He wanted to be with _her_, so he'd pressed her against her car and shoved his tongue down her throat, making her do scales with her whimpers. He'd slid his hand underneath her top and slid it up so he could wedge it under the curve of her breast and _God_ he'd miss her when he left.

"You won't even try the long-distance thing?" Sam had accused, barely separating his mouth from hers to complete the feat.

"We're sixteen, soon-to-be-seventeen for me. A little too young to be talking forever, don't you think?"

"Mercedes—"

"If we're meant to be, we'll find each other again."

That was such utter bullshit that Sam had groaned and separated slowly from her. Her lips had been swollen and her breasts had risen and fallen from the force of her heavy breathing. And while this had been the most amicable breakup he'd ever endured, it was still the worst.

"Don't break too many hearts down South," she'd told him, unconsciously bringing her hand up to her own. Sam had known she hadn't realized she'd done it because she was using her sassy voice, the one she used when she was covering her vulnerability.

He'd almost told her he loved her, but he'd wanted his balls attached for the trip down to Tennessee. Instead, he'd told her he'd see her on Facebook soon.

And boy, had she gotten an eyeful.

One of his old flings had posted a pic of them making out and had tagged him on it. In his defense, he'd been slightly drunk and he _was_ free and clear to kiss other girls now. But perhaps such a kiss not even a week after ending it with Mercedes was a little too soon. He'd immediately regretted it and untagged his name, but the damage had been done. Mercedes had played it cool on his Facebook wall—she'd had no choice; they'd not ever officially outed themselves as a couple even though Sam was pretty sure the whole club had known about them by the time he'd moved. She'd called him a Southern Lothario with a wink emoticon and had refused to entertain a gchat with him for the next two weeks. Irritated by her silence, Sam had turned the old fling into a girlfriend, who'd then proceeded to make sure the entirety of Facebook knew about it.

"She breaks your heart, I'm breaking my foot up her ass," Mercedes had typed into a gchat window two days after the announcement. "And I got me a new boo too. Guess you unleashed that genie real good, Sammy."

She hadn't announced her new relationship status, though; in fact, the option wasn't on her Facebook at all. But his Mercedes knew there was a time, a place, and a way to do it—

Cue Jacob Ben Israel.

"Fuck," Sam mumbled under his breath, closing the video with a hard click of the mouse.

_Not his_.

His Yahoo!Chat box popped on the screen with his current girlfriend sending him a kissy-face emoticon. He grinned and started to type a reply when he noticed Mercedes was back on gchat. He didn't even pause, automatically switching to type a message to her.

"So June, huh?"

He picked up his guitar again and began to strum, barely glancing at the Yahoo!Chat window's new message of "r u there?"

When Mercedes replied, he set down his guitar again so he could speak to her in earnest, even asking for a video chat. Of course she resisted at first, but if she missed him even half as much as he missed her, she'd grant him his request.

_Bingo_, he thought, and she looked adorable in her pajamas with a silk scarf wrapped around her head. Even without her makeup she was flawless. She wouldn't look at him fully as she spoke, pretending she was doing homework, and the fact made him smirk. She definitely talked a good game; but even between video chat and hundreds of miles, he could still see the real Mercedes underneath, and he proceeded to prove it to her.

Sam wasn't the least bit surprised when she abruptly ended the video chat, which was a good thing on her part because his boxers had grown exceedingly crowded thinking about their makeout sessions that he'd been about to describe. The Yahoo!Chat box was still blinking and there was a block of text inside of it. Sighing, Sam picked back up his guitar and began to play an earworm that had been stuck in his head for the past few days. An idea sparked, and he turned on his webcam to record his impromptu performance. After he was done, he sent a message to Mercedes and finally typed "Hey" to the Yahoo!Chat box.

Again, Mercedes was playing tough, trying to reject what he wanted to send her…to reject _him_. But he wouldn't let her do it. She _couldn't_ do it, not any more than he could. Just because they weren't physically together anymore didn't mean emotions suddenly stopped. Quinn still had a place in his heart, for Christ's sake—even Santana. And if Mercedes thought she didn't have a place (an entire wing, if he were honest with himself), she was going to be very disappointed…and if she thought he was anxious to move out of _his_ place in _her heart_…

He typed a final message of the night to Mercedes, sent her the video, then logged off of gchat with a grin, humming the earworm he'd just sent as he typed into the Yahoo!Chat box.

_She ain't you… _(Chris Brown)


	3. Resigned Renegade

**Title:** Resigned Renegade  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E03.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes wasn't quite prepared to hear his voice, but it didn't make it any less needed.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> So, there's to be a month-long hiatus that ended on one heck of a cliffhanger featuring Miss Mercedes Jones...of course, imagination runs wild. Enjoy and please forgive errors!

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><p>Pride cometh before the fall, her mother would always say, and this particular fall hurt way more than Mercedes had anticipated.<p>

She popped the dosage in her mouth and grimaced as it slid down her throat despite flooding them down with nearly a full glass of water, but that didn't stop her mind from thinking of all that had happened the past week. Were there any regrets? Not yet, but it still hurt nevertheless, and it'd really hurt Artie had called her jump stupid. It wasn't stupid to stand up for one's self, even if the cause was as frivolous as a part in a school play or even delicious fried potatoes being taken away from her. Why shouldn't one fight for something that gave joy or demanded fairness where there'd never been before?

Rachel Berry got everything in glee club, and Mercedes had to leave before the resentment over that calcified into something ugly that would never go away even outside of glee.

And Mercedes supposed Rachel practiced all day every day—that was the girl's only drive, it seemed, and more power to her. But what did Rachel's constant practicing have to do with Mr. Schuester not giving _everyone_ a proper shot to shine? Glee club was supposed to have been a _family_, not a dictatorship, and certainly not Vocal Adrenaline! And what about those who physically _couldn't_ practice dancing like that even if they wanted to? And hell, if anyone were a damn "park and bark", it was one Ms. Rachel Berry—

Stupid Jesse St. James and his stupid "show choir" consulting. Mercedes hoped it failed.

_God don't like ugly, Mercedes_, her grandmother's voice floated in her head, and Mercedes bit her lip to stave off the tears. Maybe that was why Mercedes didn't feel much liked by anyone these days. Thank goodness for Shane…at least he still liked her even when she wasn't being her most likeable.

Beauty wasn't everything.

Taking a deep breath, Mercedes grabbed her cellphone and scrolled to his contact. Football practice should've ended by now; she hoped the guys in glee didn't badger him too much about her defection. _If they even cared…_

"'Cedes?"

Mercedes started. This was not the voice she'd expected and wrenched the phone from her ear to check the caller ID. _Sam_. Shit. Even Santana would've been a better misdial (though she was listed in her phone as "Satan". Only fair, since Mercedes knew for a fact she was "Wheezy" in Santana's cell).

Mercedes's lips quirked at that. Never in a million years had she thought she'd ever get into Santana's contact list at all.

"Mercedes?"

She didn't know what to do. Talk? Hang up? This was none of Sam's concern anymore. He wasn't in glee; he wasn't in Lima; he wasn't even in fucking Ohio! They weren't together anymore; and despite their initial conversation a few weeks ago about the JBI video, hadn't even spoken online.

"I heard."

"You heard _what_?" Mercedes asked sharply.

"Mike told me."

"Told you _what_?"

Sam huffed out a mirthless chuckle. "You quit glee."

He said it so matter-of-factly that the full weight of her decision finally hit her. The finality of it finally hit her. No more glee. No more family. Well, this wasn't the first loss she'd suffered this year. If she could find a new boyfriend, she could certainly find a new family in Ms. Corcoran's group. Besides, there was always her church family—yeah, she'd be fine, and she wouldn't let Sam guilt her back to New Directions.

"Yeah, well, I'm lazy, I'm bitchy, I'm mean—I figure I should leave so I don't poison the well with my _diseased_ self!" Mercedes snapped, hoping he didn't hear how her voice hitched on the stressed word. "And I didn't 'quit glee', just the damn 'New Directions' that wasn't interested in going any kind of new direction at all. I _quit_ the Rachel Berry show, and not even you are gonna make me feel bad about it!"

"I don't have to," Sam said placidly. "You obviously feel bad enough."

She wished he were with her so she could punch him in the nose for that, and maybe cry into his chest too. Sam had always given the best hugs, damn him—not that Shane's weren't nice, because they were. But there was a steadiness in Sam that soothed the fire inside of her when it needed to be. She always felt roiling around Shane, like there was a distinct churning inside her that never abated. Shane said that was she finally tapping into her inner drive, and Mercedes could admit she liked the feeling most of the time. Other times, though, she wanted peace.

Like now.

"Well, whatever, sorry to bother you—"

"You're not bothering me, Mercedes. In fact, I was fiddling with my phone trying to drum up the courage to talk to you."

"Why would you want to talk to me? I'm a _lazy, mean, bitch_."

"First off, I dated Santana, and you've got a lot of work to do before you reach _my_ definition of 'mean' and 'bitch'—San set that bar pretty damn high."

Mercedes snickered. "_Sam_."

"And look at you, chastising me over that. Yeah, mean, bitchy move there, 'Cedes!"

"Still lazy, though," Mercedes muttered.

"Unless something drastically happened between June and now, I don't understand how anyone can call you that."

Something drastic _had_ happened, but she wasn't going to say it. And judging by how quiet Sam had gotten, he figured it out one possibility too.

"Don't give me that much credit," he joked.

"Oh, my goodness, you're still a dork," Mercedes cracked.

"Well…"

"Besides, could blame it on Shane," Mercedes said primly.

"Could we?"

Mercedes immediately straightened her spine, not liking the accusatory undertone in Sam's voice. "No, we _couldn't_." At least not in a negative way.

"Okay," Sam said, going back to his equable voice. "Is he supportive of you?"

"The only one who is, quite frankly."

"Not even Kurt?"

Mercedes took a deep breath and looked down at her comforter, her eyes welling with tears. "We don't really talk anymore. He's busy with _Rachel_ and _Blaine _and _Broadway_ so he doesn't have time for me anymore. Whatever."

"Mercedes—"

"No," she said gruffly, blinking fast and clearing her throat. "_Whatever_. People grow apart. I'm not his friend anymore; life goes on. It's my senior year, I'm gonna own it; and if that means _I'm_ the one who has to go in a 'new direction' then so be it!"

"Just don't forget who you are in the process, Mercedes. _Remember who you are_—"

"You did _not_ just tell me that in Mufasa's voice!" Mercedes said on a garble, trying to mask the giggle wanting to burst forth.

"Just finished watching the DVD with Stacy and Stevie. Thought it was appropriate."

"And how are they?"

"Little terrors, but I love 'em. They still ask about you and Quinn."

"She's back in glee now," Mercedes said. "She went through a brief punk phase…I don't know about her, Sam; and it doesn't help Ms. Corcoran's back, which means _Beth's_ back and I—"

"You're worried about her."

"Of course I am!"

"Even though she left you high and dry last year," Sam said.

"I was there for her when no one else was," Mercedes said. "I can't just forget that. I saw her bring a life into the world…I can't forget that, either."

"But you think you're that forgettable, that replaceable, that unimportant?"

A boulder lodged in her throat and no amount of swallowing could move it. She blinked rapidly and stared at the comforter again, and this time a few tears fell.

"They don't need me, Sam. Santana's back in the group; she can belt the notes Rachel can't reach and she's prettier than I am—they're _all_ prettier than I am—"

"Mercedes, stop it—"

"What, Sam, it's the damn truth! I watch TV! I read magazines! I'm not blind _or _dumb! If I were eighty pounds lighter I'm sure I could get the lead every now and again."

"Is Shane telling you that?"

"Hell no!" Mercedes said, trembling a little at the very ice that had entered his voice. "No, he calls me beautiful all the time."

"Good, at least I don't have to worry about his vision."

Mercedes sniffled and grinned. "Samson Evans."

"Did he tell you to quit?" he asked.

Mercedes shook her head even though Sam couldn't see her. "I made that decision myself."

"And what if you're not the star of this group, Mercedes? Are you gonna quit it too?"

She winced and licked her lips, shrugging. "Probably not. I just want a fair shot, and I'm not staying in a group that doesn't give it, Sam. _Two years_, Sam, of me swaying in the background when you and everyone else I know have the chops to be featured! And then everyone with the chops _but me_ being featured! You were brand new last year and got a solo—"

"We won the duets competition, Mercedes—"

"Rachel and Finn threw it so you'd be the twelfth member when Puck was out!" Mercedes said nastily, then closed her eyes and shook her head. "Jesus, I'm sorry…"

"You don't think I deserved it?" Sam asked, and Mercedes didn't miss the hurt. "Me and Quinn?"

"I love your voice, Sam, and clearly it wasn't a bad choice since we tied and moved on, but sit there and tell me Santana and I didn't kick ass with our duet, or that Santana should've gotten a lead before me—Santana, who one day is trying to sabotage the glee club and is its BFF the next!"

"You and Santana were amazing, and maybe Mr. Schue chose Santana for a competition lead to firm up her allegiance; I also liked Mike's and Tina's, too, and I know you did as well."

Mercedes huffed. "Maybe you're right about Santana, and yeah, I did like Tina and Mike—and they've both been featured too! You don't need to be front and center to belt out a glory note, Sam—ugh! Forget them, then! Forget Mr. Schue! Just because I'm not skinny and white and sound like Barbra Streisand doesn't mean my big, beautiful, black Aretha self can't bring the audience to its feet with applause!"

"You can. You did in glee all the time—"

"_And only in glee_."

Sam grew quiet. "Even your sophomore year?"

"Only time I was featured in front of a non-glee audience was when I was a Cheerio, Sam. Sue Sylvester, arch-enemy number one of glee, recognized my talent and did something about it before Mr. Schue. If I have to go elsewhere to grow, I will! I'm not going to stay stuck in the back to protect someone else's ego—not anymore!"

"And your ego is worth your friends?" Sam asked gently.

Mercedes' heart hurt and she had a headache, but she wasn't backing down from this—not even for Sam. "Yes. Right now, today, yes. And if you can't understand why, then we have nothing more to discuss."

Sam didn't immediately respond, and Mercedes worried she was being reckless with the bridges she was burning today. But she had Shane. Shane had her back…maybe she should find Lauren too. Out of everyone, they've been the only two who recognized she should have an equal shot at the spotlight—that she should have it, _period_. Everyone else seemed content to keep her in the shadows, but she was over that now. _Over it._

"I…I'm concerned, Mercedes," Sam admitted. "You know romantic relationships don't necessarily last better than anyone. If you and Shane break up, who will you have now that you've pushed all of your friends away because of ego?"

"Rachel chooses ego over friends all the time and she manages to keep them," Mercedes mumbled.

"That's expected of Rachel; it's not expected of you, which is why mostly everyone, I imagine, feels very betrayed right now. It's like you flipped the script on how the friendship is supposed to go."

"I _will not_ apologize for standing up for myself; nobody else will, and I shouldn't expect anyone else to. At the end of the day, all I got is me!"

"Yep," Sam said on a sigh, "sounds like it."

Mercedes bit back a sob and covered her eyes with her hands. Not once had Sam yelled at her, but this was the most chastising conversation she'd had all week.

"Sam…"

"I'm sorry it's come to this for you, Mercedes," Sam said sincerely. "I'm sorry you feel nobody cares about you or wants you to grow, and I'm sorry I'm not there to give you a hug because you sound like you really need one. But _I_ care. I know Mike cares, because he sounded really upset you left. I'll admit nobody else has called me, but besides you and Mike, I haven't really been in the loop. But I'm here for you, Mercedes. You don't just have Shane in your corner, okay?"

"You're not mad at me?"

"Disappointed, yes, but not mad. I get it, but I hope this doesn't end up biting you on the butt later."

"That's a lot of butt to bite."

"_Hush_. Then again, anacondas don't want none—"

"You need to _stop_!" Mercedes said, managing to laugh lightly. "Between you and Shane—this fascination with my rear is concerning me! And Puck, Puck seemed to like it."

"He did. He stared a lot," Sam said on a snicker.

"_Stop_!"

"Best one we've ever seen," Sam teased.

Mercedes laughed as she wiped away her tears. "I miss you so much." And it didn't even occur to her she probably shouldn't have said that until he responded, just as guilelessly as she's spoken.

"I miss you too. I just want you happy, okay? I don't like you sad; and if New Directions is making you sad…maybe you do need to leave it. But don't forget they can still be your friends."

She grunted. "You said I betrayed them."

"I said they _feel_ betrayed," Sam said firmly.

"Don't play the semantics game with me, Sam Evans."

"I'm not playin'—it's what I _said_ and what I _meant_."

Mercedes rolled her eyes and breathed harshly through her nose, flopping against the mountain of pillows lining her headboard. "They're never gonna forgive me."

"Well, I'll pray that won't be the case, how about that?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, Mercedes. I pray for all of my friends. I still consider you one, remember? I still care about you."

Mercedes grabbed a pillow from behind her and squeezed it, but it was still a poor substitute for Sam. "I have to go now."

"All right; we'll talk later, okay? And you…they still care, Mercedes. It's like when Stevie and Stacy get on my nerves and I kick 'em out my room or somethin'. By the end of the day, we're all cuddled on the couch watching some cartoon or _Star Wars_. That's what a family does—blow up one minute and hug it out the next."

"Who does the crawling back?"

"Does it much matter?" Sam asked.

A long moment of silence filled the miles between them before Mercedes whispered goodnight and ended the call. She held the phone, its lingering warmth seeping into her palm from use, before texting Shane goodnight and setting it on her nightstand next to a mostly drained glass of water and a tightly sealed bottle of Hydrea.


	4. Won't Let Go

**Title:** Won't Let Go  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E08.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In which Sam will hold on to sixteen and more.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> If you're caught up with _Glee_, then you know Sam Evans is back! Oh, and he's gonna fight for Mercedes. Nbd...except it's quite a big deal. I'm very excited for what's in store for these two. These are just my takes on what we might not get to see. Please enjoy and forgive lingering errors!

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><p>Sam used a bathroom run as an excuse to get the hell out of the auditorium where New Directions was rehearsing. Sectionals were in two days, and there were still issues about choreography. Perhaps wisely, Mike, Tina, and Artie had taken over choreography duties, managing to meld his and Blaine's suggestions in a way that made everyone happy…enough. And though people seemed pleased, none of them were sure if it were good enough to beat the Troubletones.<p>

"Are they really that good?" Sam had asked Puck during a brief break with Mr. Schuester focusing on the band.

"Dude, I'd wanted to hand them the damn Nationals trophy right then and there!" Puck had muttered around his bottled water. "And all of that just for a mash-off?" Puck had shuddered then. "Also, Mama was looking hot like fire too. Mr. Schue was definitely on some stuff when he'd said she'd needed booty camp…"

It was interesting how everyone else's recounts of Mercedes' defection differed so much from Rachel's and Finn's. They'd all agreed it'd been a temper tantrum, but Finn had made it sound as if it'd been from nowhere and jealousy over Rachel whereas the others had seen it as years of frustration finally reaching a tipping point. Regardless, the rehearsals still lacked that…_fun_…they'd used to have, between Mercedes' laughing with Kurt, Tina, and Artie or Brittany and Mike doing some insane choreography far too advanced for the rest of the mere mortals in the group or Santana playfully mocking Finn for looking like the Jolly White Giant having a seizure whenever he'd danced…especially since he definitely did now trying to work out their moves. Even an absent Rachel shrilly nitpicking every note of her solos to Mr. Schue despite he and everyone else thinking she sounded find was something Sam missed.

But he'd needed a moment to himself, which was why he was in the choir room fiddling with the piano keys while staring into nothing. He couldn't believe he was _here_, how quickly everything had come together—from the transfer from his school in Kentucky back to McKinley to walking the familiar haunts, yet everything seeming so strange. He'd let this dream die once and for all after being at his new school for a week and seeing that Jacob Ben Israel with Mercedes and her new guy, but then he'd held her hand in the hall and that dream had risen like a skyrocketing phoenix.

Mercedes must've forgotten he wasn't dyslexic when it came to her, and she sucked at poker. Sam had no doubt she'd convinced herself she'd moved on; but people said the eyes were the windows to the soul for a reason, and hers were saying everything her mouth refused to speak. They'd been soft, conveying slight exasperation to be sure, but drunk him in like he knew his had been drinking in her. And he'd felt the way her hand had squeezed his before jerking it out of his grasp, knew she'd felt that spark that had been there since the moment he'd taken her hand to dance at prom.

Oh, he was definitely fighting for her—for _them_. He hadn't been able to do that this summer, but he damn sure could now.

He played a minor chord unthinkingly and the smile that had been blossoming on his face shrank. Maybe she'd only sent him those signals because she hadn't known what he'd been doing in the meantime. Mercedes had a strong set of beliefs and morals, and he didn't think an ex-stripper would ever make the cut with her, let alone her family. The Joneses were good people, and Papa Jones in particular was protective over his baby girl…

"Ugh," Sam groaned, and proceeded to bang his head against the keys. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Sam?"

He jerked upright quickly, too quickly if the way the room spun were any indication. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head like a cartoon character coming-to; and when his eyes adjusted, they fixated on Mercedes standing next to the piano with concern in her eyes.

"Boy! What the hell?" she asked, cupping his chin and stroking a thumb over his forehead. He couldn't help closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. He wanted to curl his own hand around her waist, but he didn't have that right anymore; so instead, he curled his fingers against the piano keys and played another minor chord, this one more dissonant than the last.

It'd made her jump and snatch her hands away, and he immediately regretted reining in his impulse to hold her. Her concern morphed into irritation, and Sam rolled his eyes and started playing a minor-key tune again…bluesy, at that. While he wasn't as adept with the piano as he was with the guitar, he knew enough. He was from Memphis, then Lexington, Kentucky; he knew a little something about the blues. Country bluegrass blues…

"Rehearsal going _that_ well?"

"Peachy keen," Sam said with an exaggerated Kentucky drawl. "Yours?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes but nodded and bit her lip to keep from smiling, which meant he gave her his most lopsided grin to tip the balance. She turned her head, but he saw her shoulders shake with her mirth.

_Point for him!_

Moments later, Mercedes had her (very poor) poker face back on and regarded him with an arched eyebrow. "I hope that means no fights have broken out this go 'round?"

Another dissonant chord. "How'd you find out?"

"Santana, by way of Brittany, by way of Rory," Mercedes said, then sighed. "What Blaine said to you was completely out of line."

Sam nodded once, scowling. "It was."

"And you shouldn't be ashamed for doing what you had to do to support your family, Sam. You're a man of integrity and honor—none of that changed just because you shook your groove thang for an audience."

He closed his eyes then, the sincerity of her words squeezing his heart. The lack of judgment and censure from her was something he knew he'd wanted from her, but he hadn't known how much he'd actually _needed_ it until he'd had it.

He only opened his eyes again when her hand closed around his. She smiled softly at him, and he returned it. Her eyes darted about his face and her brows furrowed, but she bit her full bottom lip and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"What?" he asked, sensing she wanted to say more. Even before they'd become romantic, he'd always valued her opinions and advice. That still didn't change even if they were no longer a couple.

"But 'White Chocolate', though?"

"Trying to channel you, Miss Chocolate Thunder," he admitted with another lopsided grin. "When I'd first auditioned, the owner said I had a nice body but I was too stiff; then I thought of you…how you're sexy without even trying to be because you're so confident and the way you move and _everything_…so I thought of you and how you made me feel and that's how I got the gig and the name."

She was hiding her "what am I going to do with you?" smile, though not very well, and sighed, staring at their clasped hands. "I'm just…remembering the boy who was concerned about 'showing nuttage' just a year and some change ago…and comparing him to the grown man he is now—the one who'd do anything to make sure his family was safe and supported, even if that meant setting aside his self-consciousness to do it. This man is a good man, and I'm proud to know this man. Everyone should be so blessed to do so."

She then flicked her eyes up to him shyly and squeezed his hand, standing. She started to walk away, but he held tight to her hand. She stopped, however, didn't turn back to face him.

"I'd do anything for you, too, Mercedes."

Her shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath she took and she squeezed his hand once more. "Then…you'll move on and let me go?"

He immediately shook his head even though she couldn't see it. "I can't go for that."

She scoffed but couldn't quite catch her giggle. "Sam!"

"You make my dreams come true!"

"Stop!" she said, even less successful at containing that laugh.

Sam smiled and stood. Finn and Rachel had sung the mashup for him as a way to refresh him on what the glee club had been working on thus far that semester. He'd thought it was corny, but catchy…and corny was right up his alley.

As well as Mercedes', even if she pretended otherwise.

He stopped just short of going flush against her back, but he'd become bold and linked their fingers together. Mercedes sighed but didn't stop him, her head bowed completely. This whole "boyfriend" business wasn't ideal, and he wouldn't ever want her to cheat on him; but Sam didn't want her to cheat on _herself_, either. The decision would always and forever be hers, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to use every opportunity to plead his case to be her _man_.

"Do you have any idea how much I want to hold you right now?" he asked lowly, stroking his thumb against her palm.

Mercedes looked over her shoulder then, her eyes wistful and yearning, before turning fully and wrapping her arms about his waist.

Sam enveloped her, his cheek against her temple, his arms tight about her shoulders, and released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding since the end of June. She nuzzled the space above his heart for a brief moment before pulling out of his arms and heading for the door.

She paused in the threshold. "Welcome back, Sam," she finally greeted, her smile kind and genuine, then disappeared from his view. Sam stood there staring at the door for a couple of moments, then returned to the piano, though he didn't sit on the bench again. He started the blues ditty he'd been tinkering with when Mercedes had entered the room, but ended it with a major chord and a hopeful smile before returning to the auditorium for more rehearsal.


	5. Lose to Gain

**Title:** Lose to Gain  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E08.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes is tired of being a gracious loser all the time.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Admittedly, this isn't heavy on romantic!Mercedes/Sam, but does relate. Please forgive any lingering errors and enjoy!

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><p>Mercedes was the last student to leave the classroom, completely drained after giving one of the hardest speeches she'd ever had to give. She'd been so sure the Troubletones had had Sectionals in the bag, completely confident and giddy after they'd gotten off the stage that'd she'd felt she'd floated back to the seats. Everyone had had worked so hard with long hours afterschool at her house or Brittany's, or even in the practice gym since the late-night custodial staff and she had a rapport. There'd been nights Mercedes had been so tired Ms. Corcoran would have to give her a ride home and her mother would drop her off to school before work the next morning. She'd had to tell Ms. Corcoran about her new medications because of it, something she'd never had to do with Mr. Schuester; but the choreography hadn't been as difficult with Mr. Schue, either.<p>

And now, it'd all been for nothing.

"You're not going to Santana's consolation party?"

Mercedes snickered and shook her head. "I think only she and Brittany are attending that one."

Realization appeared on Ms. Corcoran's face and she grinned a little. "Well, then, did your parents already leave? Do you need a ride?"

Mercedes nodded to the parents and shook her head to ride. "I have my car."

Ms. Corcoran tilted her head in acceptance, but then approached Mercedes and placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's been a pleasure to work with you, Mercedes."

Mercedes smiled sadly. "You as well, Ms. Corcoran. I'm just sorry I wasn't good enough for you."

Ms. Corcoran arched an eyebrow and leaned back. "Is that what you think?"

Mercedes shrugged. "That's what the judges thought. We lost and I was the leader; that means it was on me. You trusted me to lead, but we didn't succeed—_I_ didn't succeed."

Ms. Corcoran chuckled a little and shook her head before sitting next to her. "You know what, Mercedes? I've made a _lot _of mistakes since I've been here, and I need to apologize to you as well. I've had much less gifted performers come through my group and I managed to make them Nationals winners. But then I get you, someone so full of talent and earnestness and willingness to work, but I let all of my personal drama distract me from molding you into the star I _know_ you're destined to be. So, yeah, you girls were my least-successful group on paper, but you were by far my favorite, and I'd like to thank you for that."

Mercedes' smile was tremulous she nodded once. "Thank you, Ms. Corcoran."

"You're welcome. I'm still willing to work with you for any auditions you might have, and I know Beth would love to see you again…"

Mercedes's smile was surer this time. She'd met baby Beth a few times during her one-on-one vocal coaching sessions at Ms. Corcoran's home, and the baby looked just like Quinn. Ms. Corcoran even let Mercedes sing her to sleep once; and after that, she'd cried in her car for a good ten minutes in memory of when she'd used to sing to Beth in Quinn's belly.

"I'll definitely take you up on that."

They both stood, but Ms. Corcoran pulled her into a hug and Mercedes let her. They didn't speak, and Ms. Corcoran squeezed her once before letting go. They walked out of the classroom together, Ms. Corcoran catching the light, and she winked at her before turning right towards the teachers' parking lot. Mercedes went left, her book bag full of her heels, hosiery, and hair tools and her garment bag full of the outfit she'd designed and sewed draped over her left arm. She stared at her sneakered feet, just now starting to feel her lethargy and soreness since the adrenaline had burned away.

She felt as if she could sleep for decades.

She'd just gotten to the main atrium when she decided to play her mp3 player and heard familiar laughter. The sound made her turn up the volume and walk faster, and she was very glad she had changed into her sneakers. Mercedes had no interest in being the graceful loser right now; she was raw and her emotional reserves were all but drained.

She'd started to turn toward the student parking lot, hoping the door was unlocked so she didn't have to walk all the way around the school, when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and her foot caught the edge of her garment bag, causing her to trip. Her bag and mp3 player clattered to the ground and she winced. So much for her clandestine exit.

"Dammit," she whispered under her breath and slowly bent to pick up her things. She kept her head bowed even though she heard her name being called and footsteps hurrying toward her. She was busy looking for the mp3 player, that far more important than her dress, and the cell phone continued to buzz. Cursing softly again, she yanked the device from her pocket and saw it was a text from Shane, his reply to her text about the Sectionals outcome.

_Hugs and kisses_.

She rolled her eyes, then immediately felt guilty. It wasn't his fault Ohio State had scheduled his first campus visit the same weekend as her Sectionals, although Mercedes really did wish he were here now so he could hug and kiss her for real.

Then again, he hadn't been around all that much since the recruiter had come weeks ago. And she understood—she really did; but now that she'd no longer have the Troubletones to distract her, she was suddenly aware just how little time they'd actually been spending with each other…and the fact she hadn't particularly minded all that much.

She'd parse that out later.

"Mercedes!"

Her head snapped up and it took her a moment to register it was Kurt holding her garment bag and her mp3 player.

"Thanks," she said, rising from her crouch and holding out her arms for her item. "Congrats on the win." She could only catch his eyes for a quick second before averting hers.

Kurt didn't give her things back, peering at her instead. "Are you okay?"

Mercedes looked at him incredulously, then shot him a wide, false smile. "Thrilled."

Kurt turned red and shook his head. "No, I mean—"

"Mercedes! You were amazing!" Mr. Hummel smiled and waved enthusiastically from where he stood a little ways down the hall. Mrs. Hudson-Hummel had her arm looped through his free one while Finn, Rachel, Sam, Quinn, Blaine, and Puck all stood around, their smiles softening a bit as they looked at her.

Mercedes needed to get out of there _now_. "Thanks, Mr. Hummel," she said. "Kurt—"

"Mr. Hummel?" he asked, a frown marring his features. "What happened to Papa Burt? In fact, what's happened to _you_? Miss hearing your singing and laughter all the time in my house, 'Cedes!"

"Why don't you join us?" Mrs. Hudson-Hummel asked with a large, welcoming smile. "We're all going to Breadstix to celebrate."

"Yeah, great idea, Carole! Where are your parents? I'd love to catch up," Mr. Hummel said, still smiling and warm.

"Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Hudson-Hummel, but I think I'd be a little out of place—I don't have anything to celebrate, after all," Mercedes said as kindly as she could, feeling her emotional reserves go almost completely empty. "And my parents went on their date night—Saturday and all."

"Mercedes—"

"And I'm tired, Kurt, okay?" Mercedes continued, sharper than she preferred, but she was frayed and worn. "Please give me my stuff so I can go home."

"Home? Where are Brittany and Santana?" Quinn asked.

Mercedes shrugged. "They left before I did. I didn't ask."

Kurt pursed his lips. "You're going home alone?"

"Like usual," Mercedes muttered, under her breath. "_Please_ hand me my things."

Kurt stared at her for a moment, his brows furrowing even more, but he adjusted his grip on her belongings. "Let me at least carry—"

"No, I don't need your help," Mercedes said. "I was just fine before—"

"You're upset—"

"Of _course_ I'm upset!" Mercedes snapped, her voice echoing through the bare hallways to the point even her own ears twitched at how shrill it was. It faded into the complete silence that had entered the hall, and Mercedes squeezed her eyes shut against it.

"There's no need to yell at him, Mercedes," Rachel said with a bit of censure in her tone. "You should really work on being a more gracious loser."

Mercedes' eyes watered before she could catch herself, annoyed Kurt had a front-row seat to her complete loss of composure. He took a step forward but she spun around and walked away before he could touch her. He could keep her stuff for all she cared. She wasn't going to stand around with them all holier-than-thou and smug from their win as if they'd been entitled to it all along.

_A more gracious loser_? She'd been nothing _but_ for the past year! First, she'd lost Kurt to Dalton, then to Blaine, then to Rachel; she'd lost Quinn to obvious post-partum depression and an overzealous need to reclaim her glory days; she'd lost Sam to a screwed-up economy; and she'd lost the only family she'd ever known at McKinley for an opportunity to shine—and she _had_; just not as long or as brightly as she thought she could.

But excuse the hell out of her that she was fresh out of grace to give!

She reached the doors to the student parking lot; and to her complete expectation, they were locked. The culmination of events was so utterly perfect that Mercedes leaned her forehead against the cool metal and let out a shaky breath even as silent tears threatened to fall down her face. Maybe she should just get these few ones out the way now so she could find her sass, slide it back on, and face them as she went out the front doors to get to her car, but that was too risky. She might not ever stop if she did. Besides, her head now hurt to add to the fatigue she felt, and she really wished she hadn't decided to wait until after the competition to take her medication. She hadn't wanted to be drowsy and sluggish on stage….but that didn't seem to matter much now.

"Mercedes?"

"Quinn."

"I think the door's locked."

"I know."

"Mercedes?"

She took another deep breath. "Just drop my stuff on the floor, Kurt; I'll get it."

"I'm sorry, Mercedes."

She exhaled shakily and squeezed her eyes shut, but a few tears managed to slip through anyway. "You don't have anything to apologize for, Kurt. If anything, I should. Rachel's right—I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"'Cedes—"

"And really, congratulations on the win. Clearly, you guys didn't really need me at all anyway, instead of the other way around."

"_Mercedes_!"

She shook her head at Quinn's exclamation of her name, disagreeing with the astonishment she heard wrapped in it. There was no need to be upset about it anymore. People changed, after all. She wasn't as good of a friend as she thought she'd been, even though she'd tried. She'd given her all to everything, but she wasn't good enough. She wasn't a good enough friend to Kurt and Quinn; she wasn't a good enough member for New Directions; and she wasn't a good enough leader for the Troubletones.

For all her effort and all her trying, she just wasn't _enough_, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Unexpected arms wrapped around her, making her jump and lift her head from the door. "Wha—?"

"You're good enough, Mercedes."

The words, whispered so softly in her ear, finally unleashed the tears she'd been valiantly denying herself since it'd been announced the Troubletones had lost. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed her heart out, the arms about her waist tightening in support and comfort. There were cries in her ears that didn't belong to her, and someone pulled her into a chest, which only made her cry harder.

Suddenly she was very warm despite the chill coming from the metal doors, almost suffocatingly so, but she had no thought of moving. She was still very exhausted, and she more sagged against the body in front of her than anything else. Her brace was sturdy, however, and she clutched the soft fabric of a sweater in her hands.

How long or how many they stood there, she didn't know, but eventually her tears stopped falling and her breath evened out.

"This…this is just _tragic_," Mercedes moaned, and immediately began giggling in between her sobs when someone snorted and multiple laughs echoed in the halls. Arms squeezed her and she finally pulled back. Kurt, eyes red and face blotchy, smiled down at her before kissing her forehead, and Mercedes felt tears begin again.

"I have to agree," Kurt said, his voice tight and muffled since he spoke against her forehead. "You never cry."

"You never _see_ me cry," Mercedes corrected, and Kurt sighed softly.

He gasped as if affronted. "You don't think I can handle your tears?"

"No."

"You're right," he conceded, and fully pulled her from the person behind her to enfold her in his arms. "I can't. Especially because I'm the cause of them, and I'm _so sorry_, Mercedes. You're just…I don't know…I'm sorry."

Mercedes buried her face into Kurt's neck. This was why she hadn't wanted to bring it up in the first place. Even though she was unhappy, that was her problem, not his. "I didn't want to get in your way. You were happy without me so, you know. I love you, Kurt. You had a rough year and if anyone deserves happiness, it's you…even if that's not with me, anymore."

He held her tighter. "You're breaking my heart."

"I don't mean to. I'm sorry, Kurt."

"Stop apologizing," he whispered, kissing the side of her head. "It's my turn, now."

"And mine…"

Mercedes looked over her shoulder to see a silently crying Quinn smiling back at her. She reached out a hand and the blonde took it, squeezing it gently. Quinn approached and rested her forehead against Mercedes' temple, stroking the small of her back with her free hand.

"I love you," Quinn simply said.

"Hey, soul sister," Mercedes sang, smiling more when Quinn gave her a kiss on her damp cheek. Kurt brought Quinn into their hug and the three of them stood there, although Mercedes was getting more and more tired.

"Take over for me, Q," Kurt said after a moment. "I need to talk to my parents."

Quinn wasted no time following the directive, and Mercedes snuggled into her. She closed her eyes at Quinn smoothing down her hair and was brought back to those late night when she'd done the same for the then mother-to-be as she sang the blonde to sleep.

"Mr. Hummel was right, you know; you _were_ amazing, and you _are_ amazing; and a second-place finish in a group competition doesn't negate that."

"I'm amazing at second rate," Mercedes muttered. "I lost to a New Directions without Rachel Berry. That's embarrassing no matter how you slice it."

"Okay, first of all," Quinn began, pulling back and using the pads of her fingers to wipe away Mercedes' tears. "I think we won _because_ we didn't have Rachel Berry, but don't tell her I said that."

Mercedes pulled in her lips to stifle her giggle. "You know you wrong!"

Quinn shrugged unapologetically. "She would've tried to make it Streisand and you know it."

Mercedes could only shake her head, unwilling to incriminate herself any further.

"Second of all, I think it could've gone either way," Quinn said, "had it not been for the edge we had."

"What edge?"

"White Chocolate," Quinn said and winked.

Mercedes hid her face in Quinn's shoulder, needing more reinforcements to muffle her giggles. Sam Evans was an adorable, dorky, sexy mess and a half and damn him for coming back and making her miss him all the more.

"But…the win didn't feel right, because you weren't there," Quinn said. "All of you. It felt hollow."

"If you'd like to swap your hollow win for my heartbreaking loss, I'm all for the trade," Mercedes muttered.

"And third, _most importantly_, of all, you're not 'second rate' to anybody, Mercedes Jones," Quinn said firmly. "I'd rather just have you, how about that?" Quinn asked in her ear. "The _best_ friend and soul sister I've ever had."

Mercedes's heart dropped and she squeezed Quinn in reaction as she finally realized something. "I said everything out loud, didn't I?"

"Affirmative," Kurt said, having come back just in time to hear the question. "Mama Carole and Rachel became sobbing messes because of it and Finn looks like grilled cheese sandwiches have been banned from consumption—not to mention Puck had to physically restrain Sam from coming after you…"

Mercedes ignored her heart fluttering at that last bit. "Tell them I'm sorry."

"No, I'm not," Kurt said, shaking out a moist towelette and freshening up her face. "And you won't, either. We deserved to hear you said. Shame on us for taking you for granted, Mercedes; and shame on us for not being good enough friends to let you feel safe enough to express your discontent until you have to lash out so you can release it. You're a strong woman, Mercedes, but even strong women need someone to lean on."

"That sounds familiar…" Quinn said, and the girls smiled and touched foreheads.

"So! I told my parents I would be staying over your house and we're going to watch old movies…or Quinn and I are, and you'll no doubt fall asleep on one of us," Kurt said, looping his arm through Mercedes.

"You really just invited yourself over to _my _house?" she asked Kurt incredulously.

"I do have a standing invitation that has never been revoked."

"And I still have a key," Quinn added.

"As do I!" Kurt announced, patting Mercedes' hand. "So suck it up; we're spending time with you and turning your frown upside down and you will enjoy it."

Mercedes hugged them both and let Quinn link their fingers together. "Thank you. I love you guys."

"We love you, too, Mercedes," Kurt vowed. "We love you too."


	6. From the Heart

**Title:** From the Heart  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, Glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E09.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sam realizes the best gifts really do come from the heart, especially if from Mercedes.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Rating primarily for adult language. Please forgive any lingering errors and enjoy!

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><p>Sam should've expected the glee club would pull through; and it had with style. The turkey and the tree had certainly livened up the soup kitchen—as had the song everyone had sung, although he wasn't quite sure if singing about poor people in Africa was the appropriate considering their particular audience. But, it was one of his mother's favorite Christmas songs, and the folks seemed to enjoy it, so he supposed it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.<p>

Per usual, Mercedes looked and sounded amazing; Sam couldn't help his smile while watching her and valiantly ignored the knowing looks Quinn and Rory shot him. He really hated he was so transparent, but what could he do? It'd been six, long, agonizing months without her in his sights, without her being in touching distance, and he was going to enjoy every second of it…even if he weren't supposed to be doing so. Mercedes had been good, too; although her performance in glee club the other day had had him chasing her around the choir room like an eager puppy. It had paid off, though, and he still felt that garland being looped around his neck like a very willing noose and her hand slightly trembling in his as he'd helped her down from the ladder after she'd played Christmas Cupid to Finn and Rachel. He'd squeezed her hand and she'd flashed him a small smile before easing her hand away. He'd even heard her breath whoosh out once the contact had ended, as if she'd been holding her breath to let nothing distract her from the feel of their hands pressed together.

Or maybe that had just been him…

"Uh, Sam? The plate's like five feet to your left…"

Sam blinked and looked down to see the spoonful of candied yams he'd just scooped hovering over Kurt's tray instead of over the little boy's plate he'd been attempting to serve. He chuckled and felt his cheeks grow warm but served the boy appropriately without making an even bigger fool of himself.

"I'm surprised there's not a hole through her yet the way you're staring," Kurt said out the side of his mouth, spooning his green beans for the older woman before him. The woman smiled at Sam but bypassed his offering, and Sam shrugged imperceptibly.

"I don't mean to stare," Sam said on a sigh. "It's just…"

Kurt nodded, glancing at Mercedes himself. "I get it."

"I can't hold her, I can't kiss her, but I can look at her, so that's what I'm gonna do," Sam said unapologetically.

"You can also talk to her," Kurt said, bumping Sam with his hips and taking the spoon from Sam. "Go. You're crap at this anyway and the opportunity is perfect."

Sam smiled widely at his friend before doing just that, throwing the plastic gloves in the trash bin as he made his way to the table where Mercedes sat with a little girl snuggled in her lap. As he passed, he squeezed Mercedes' shoulder, and Mercedes popped up her head to regard him with an arched eyebrow.

"Samson," she said, a thread of warning in her tone.

"Mercedes," he returned, then grinned at girl in Mercedes' lap. "Who's the cutie?"

"My name is Beatrice Yen and I'm five," the little girl declared, spreading the fingers of her left hand wide to underscore her age.

"Hello, Beatrice Yen; I'm Sam Evans and I'm a bit older than that," he said, spreading his right hand three times then holding up a peace sign for "two".

"How many is that, Mercy?" Beatrice asked Mercedes in a stage whisper.

"Seventeen," Mercedes said.

"You are the same age!" Beatrice said, sitting up a little to grab Sam's hand. She splayed her fingers against it and cocked her head to the side. "Your hand is bigger than Mercy's hand!"

"Mercy?" Most people called her 'Cedes or 'Cede, if not her full name. _Mercy_, in particular, held a special meaning between them—something he knew she remembered given the way she refused to meet his eyes.

"She was having a hard time saying my full name," Mercedes explained.

"Ah," Sam said, grinning a little when she narrowed her eyes at him. "And, yes, my hand is bigger because I'm a lot taller than she is."

"I wanna see how big!" Beatrice announced, then placed Mercedes' hand in Sam's.

It twitched and trembled, as if she'd had to physically restrain herself from jerking her hand away, but Beatrice meticulously made sure all of their digits were perfectly aligned. He watched Mercedes' face, but she was staring at their hands, her lips quivering and her eyes barely blinking away from the sight. Sam took a risk and curled his fingers atop hers, and Mercedes' eyes slipped closed.

"Wow, your hand's bigger than I thought!" Beatrice said, looking between them both.

"Yes," he said gruffly, yanking his eyes from Mercedes to look at Beatrice. She was peering at him, then twisted her head to look at Mercedes and then back to Sam.

"Are you two girlfriend and boyfriend?"

The two teens' eyes widened and Mercedes snatched her hand away then. "No! Just friends," she insisted, warningly shaking her head at Sam.

"_Very_ good friends," Sam added, this time arching his own eyebrow, ready to discover where this particular trajectory of the conversation would take them.

Beatrice frowned mightily at that. "Oh."

"You seem disappointed," Sam said on a chuckle.

Beatrice shrugged. "You just looked at her like my daddy does my mommy sometimes, so I thought you were together—not _married _yet, because you're not a grown up, but you look like you love her so—maybe you should tell her you love her! _Do _you love her—?"

"Beatrice," Mercedes interrupted firmly. "I have a boyfriend."

The look that appeared on Beatrice's face was nothing short of appalled, and Sam decided right then and there she was going to be his best friends for life. "_You do_?"

Beatrice crooked a frantic finger at him. He bent forward and gave her his ear. "Yes?"

"Is the boyfriend as big as you are?"

"Apparently, 'bulldozer' big," Sam affirmed.

"_Oooh_," Beatrice said, pulling back and looking between them again. "I like Sam. You should be with Sam. I've decided."

Sam beamed and nodded at Mercedes. "You should listen to the little lady here—"

"_Sam_!" Mercedes hissed.

"What?" Sam asked, holding up his hands in innocence. "It's not a bad suggestion, Mercedes."

"Stop it."

Sam pouted exaggeratedly, and Beatrice giggled, burrowing into Mercedes. "You're funny."

"Gee, gorsh, that's real nice of ya!" Sam said in Goofy's voice, and Beatrice laughed harder, clapping in delight. He looked to Mercedes, who had a soft expression in her eyes even as she tried to hide her smile atop Beatrice's head.

His own smile softened. "Hey, Beatrice; does Mercedes look at me the way your mom looks at your dad?"

Mercedes' widened, then she purposefully turned her head when Beatrice leaned forward to investigate.

"Mercy, you gotta look at Sam or I can't _tell_!" Beatrice whined, patting Mercedes' hand for emphasis.

"That depends. Is your mom often _annoyed_ at your dad?"

"Sometimes," Beatrice admitted.

"Remember that," Mercedes indicated, and pinned Sam with such a forceful glare that his smile faltered.

"Too far?" he asked with a wince.

"Beyond far, Sam Evans, and you know it!"

"You're right; I apologize."

"Good," Mercedes said, her tone still sharp and unyielding.

Sam sighed and touched her knee gently. "I don't like you mad, Mercedes."

"I don't like being mad," Mercedes said, "and I'm _not_ mad," she clarified. "I'm just…" She huffed out a breath and shook her head.

Sam unconsciously caressed her knee and leaned forward. "You're what?"

She continued to shake her head and hugged Beatrice more, who looked all too pleased by the embrace. Eventually, Mercedes flashed him a smile and deposited Beatrice onto Sam's lap. "I'm going to take over for Quinn. I think she deserves a break…"

"Bye, Mercy!" Beatrice said, throwing her arms wide open for one last hug.

"Bye, sweetie," Mercy said, accepting Beatrice's hug and kiss to the cheek. With one last flick of her eyes to Sam, Mercedes went to the food line, his gaze following her progress until he felt Beatrice tug on his sleeve.

"Ma'am?" he asked, playfully bumping her shoulder with his.

She placed her mouth next to his ear. "She does."

"She does what?"

Beatrice beamed, her tongue playing with the gap her two front bottom teeth had left when she lost them. "Look at you like my mommy does my daddy…"

Sam kept his distance from Mercedes for the remainder of their time there, though that didn't stop him from observing. She was definitely more relaxed around everyone else and part of Sam felt exceedingly frustrated by this. They'd had such an easy rapport before he'd moved; and while they couldn't be a couple (yet), he missed her platonic friendship just as much as their romantic relationship.

"Turn that frown upside down, Trouty," Santana said as she pranced by him, the janitor back on "Jingle Bells" duty again. "Then again, maybe your family does need the coal in your stocking to keep you warm during the night…"

"Energy bills_ are _sky high," he said with a smirk. "Maybe you could spare a ton or two from your own personal stash you've accumulated over the years." Sam rolled his eyes and popped her on the behind as he passed, Santana cooing at him in approval.

He left out with everyone else, and was surprised when Mercedes stopped him before climbing into his car with Quinn.

"I have some gifts for you and your family," she said, her breath visible in the cold Lima air. She shuddered a little, and his arms felt heavy with the desire to hold her close.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You didn't have to…"

"I know; that's why they're called gifts," Mercedes said with a small smile and glanced at Quinn briefly. "I can drop them by Rachel's house before you go to Kentucky?"

"I go back on Wednesday," Sam said agreed with a nod.

"Tuesday?"

"Rory and I were gonna ring the bell Tuesday, but I'll text you when," he said.

"All right." She smiled briefly, then gave Quinn a quick hug. "You look adorable, as usual."

"And you, flawless as always," Quinn said, rocking Mercedes as they hugged. Mercedes didn't hug him and he didn't push for one, but he did grin at her goodbye smile as Santana threaded an arm through Mercedes', blowing a kiss at him as she did so.

"Gifts for you, huh?" Quinn said as Sam cranked the engine to his 1992 Ford Escort.

He shrugged, backing out of the lot and turning onto the road. "I wasn't expecting anything."

"Oh, you should know better than that," Quinn said. "This _is_ Mercedes Jones."

"_Miz_ Mercedes Jones," Sam said with his signature lopsided grin.

"But you also know she doesn't expect anything in return, right?" Quinn asked.

Sam shot her an incredulous look. "Still?"

Quinn sighed and relaxed against the seat. "Working on it," she vowed, closing her eyes. "We're _all_ working on it…"

Sam racked his brain for the next two days trying to figure out what he could get Mercedes that wouldn't send "The Bulldozer" after him. He'd even enlisted Kurt for help, but everything he suggested was something only appropriate for a boyfriend to give.

"_You_ should be the boyfriend," Kurt muttered under his breath, handing the clerk the box with a pair of zebra-print hoops they'd been eyeing. They'd been in the mall for hours and both were growing frustrated.

"I _was_ the boyfriend," Sam said leaving the shop. "This being broke thing _sucks_—"

"Mercedes was with you when you had nothing, remember?" Kurt reminded him. "The last thing she cares about is a fancy bauble or trinket here and there. She'd want something from _Sam_; not necessarily something Sam _bought_ from the _mall_…"

Sam paused, smiled widely, and gave Kurt such an enthusiastic hug he lifted the other boy off his feet, causing the airborne-boy to yelp disgracefully.

For the rest of that Sunday and as much of Monday as possible, Sam remained holed up in the Berry guestroom working on Mercedes' gift. He never did contact Mercedes about the time and ignored her texts—actually, ignored everyone who wasn't already an Evans and living in Kentucky or going with him there, in Rory's case. He did stop by Mercedes' locker at the beginning of school on Tuesday and asked if she could come over an hour after school ended.

"Uh, sure, that works. Do I need to clear it with Rachel—?"

"She mentioned something about going to the mall with Finn, so it'll be fine," Sam said quickly.

Mercedes arched an eyebrow and stepped back. "Sam…"

He returned her arched eyebrow. "Do you trust me?"

She pursed her lip, then closed her eyes and sighed. "I'll see you after school."

Sam could hardly wait for the day to end—not helped by the fact it was the last day of school for the calendar year. When the final bell rang, he all but ran to Mercedes' locker…just in time to see her kiss her boyfriend underneath a sprig of mistletoe he held over their heads. Mercedes was giggling, clutching the dude's letterman jacket as she gave him peck after laugh-filled peck on the lips. Sam did an immediate about-face, his heart hurting and his hands turning into fists with the urge to punch The Bulldozer right in the kisser. It was the first time he'd actually seen Mercedes interact with her new boyfriend in person…and it sucked.

"You all right?"

Sam jerked up his head to see Rory walking next to him. Sam shook his head. "Not really."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No. Just be ready at five…maybe earlier. Mercedes is gonna drop off some gifts and I'll be over to get you soon after."

"All right. You're still giving me a ride to Brittany's?"

"Yeah, man," Sam said, clapping Rory on the shoulder fraternally.

The ride to Brittany's was silent save for the staticky holiday music coming from the radio, and even quieter from there to Rachel's house because Sam shut off the radio completely. When he pulled up he saw Mercedes car on the street in front of the house, and groaned loudly.

"Mercedes," he said, slamming his car door too hard once he got out. Mercedes looked at him in surprise and frowned.

"What's up with you?"

Sam shook his head and eyed the large shopping bag full of well-wrapped gifts. "Thanks," he said, holding out his hand to take it. Mercedes pulled it back and glowered. He shrugged. "Fine. Suit yourself. Leave it on the doorstep for all I care…"

It was too cold to stand outside and pretend to be cheery, and he all but slammed the Berrys' front door open as he entered the house. He was pissed off, and at her, even though she technically hadn't done anything wrong. Even though she hadn't waited…for _what_, exactly? Mercedes wasn't the type of girl to pine over lost love, but Sam hadn't been _lost_—he'd been four damn hours away in Kentucky. If Finn and Rachel could make the trip, why not Mercedes? Why had she let them get to this point? Why couldn't she be with him again?

He whirled around and stumbled a bit when he saw her boring an angry hole between his eyes, the shopping bag of gifts more leaning against her instead of standing upright on its own. She had her hands on her hips and looked so damn sexy, even in her form-fitting pea coat and crochet winter hat, that he wanted to growl in frustration that he couldn't hold her the way he'd been yearning to do for six damn long months.

"You know what, Sam Evans, I should just yank your gift out and send you back to Kentucky without it!"

"I'm going back without you, so that's pretty much the same thing, isn't it?"

She visibly started at that, and he had the audacity to smile lopsidedly at her. Some of her bluster disappeared, and she clutched the handles of the shopping bag tightly, looking everywhere but at him.

"I wouldn't be going with you regardless," she murmured eventually.

Sam shrugged. "True, but at least your heart would've been mine to take with me; but it's not, is it?"

"It's _mine_," Mercedes insisted.

"Oh…so Shane doesn't have it, either?"

Mercedes narrowed her eyes at him. "You know what? Here, I'm leaving the bag and I'm _going_…"

The hell she was! Mercedes owed him answers, and he would get them _right now_! "Why didn't you wait for me, Mercedes?"

Her eyes widened and drew herself in briefly before tilted up her chin and glaring at him. "Sam—"

"Finn and Rachel could make the four-hour trip but you couldn't?" Sam snapped, almost growling as he approached her. "I wanted to be with you even after the move. We didn't have to end! _Why did you let us end_?"

Mercedes worked her jaw, her eyes darting over his face before she looked away for a moment. Then she regarded him again, fire snapping in her beautiful dark-brown eyes. "What I look like, Sam Evans, _pining_ after some boy a whole damn state away? We were a _fluke_, Sam, a _fling_. You go to a brand new school and have all those pretty girls falling all over themselves to get to you and I'm the one with egg on my face like Rachel damn Berry—"

"I'd never treat you like that!" Sam exclaimed, unable to keep from cupping her jaw. Her skin was as soft as he remembered, and his thumb stroked her cheek to relish in it.

"Not intentionally," Mercedes conceded, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. "But you're all about popularity; you're the quintessential All-American boy, and having _me_ as a girlfriend wasn't gonna up your status at your new school—something you were so concerned about that when you were at McKinley—"

"But not when I was with you—"

"We were a _secret_, Sam!"

"You wanted us to be…" A realization just hit him. "You…that was for _my_ benefit?" He stepped back from her, looking at his feet in shock. She'd said she'd just wanted the summer for them, to get to know each other without interference from the glee club; and after the drama-filled year he'd had, he'd willingly agreed. How had he missed there was something much more than that for her?

When he looked up again, Mercedes was no longer in front of him.

"Wait!"

Mercedes had already left the bag where she'd set it and started for the door, but did stop at his shout. She didn't turn around, though, and Sam thought perhaps that was for the best.

"I'll be right back, please don't leave," he said softly, but he didn't move until he received an agreeing nod from her.

He took the stairs to his guestroom two at a time and grabbed his guitar, leaping back down the steps by threes, minding his instrument as he did so. When he reached the foyer again, Mercedes was rifling through the bag with a small frown on her face.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just dropped my cell in the bag and had to fish it…out…" She'd finally spied him and noticed the guitar at the ready for playing. She blinked at him, a small smile curving her lips. "What's this?"

"Your Christmas present."

She bit her lip, but that did little to stop her burgeoning smile. "Sam."

"Even despite my, erm, more _lucrative_ employment, I didn't have enough money to do the type of Christmas shopping I wanted to do, but I do have my guitar and my voice—"

"And I love both," Mercedes said, then slapped her hands over her mouth and stepped back from him, spinning around. "I should go—"

"Please, Mercedes," he called, already beginning to play just in case she made a dash for it anyway. She didn't move, and neither did he other than to strum the strings, and he closed his eyes to let the song flow.

"_If you lower me down, so deep that I…I can't get out…_"

James Morrison's "If You Don't Want to Love Me" came pouring out directly from his soul, laying his heart bare at Mercedes' feet. He'd stumbled onto the acoustic version of the song on YouTube weeks ago, not even sure how he'd gotten there, but the song had never left him. How perfect were the lyrics, especially with what was going on now…how Mercedes was trying to dismiss everything that had happened between them because she was with someone else…because she'd thought he eventually would be.

But Sam didn't want anyone else. He just wanted her.

"_I'm gonna stay, when you just wanna fight, and there's tears in your eyes 'cause you don't wanna love me…_"

She'd sniffled then, the first crack she'd shown him even as the song was about to end, but Sam played more emphatically than ever.

"_I'm gonna stay, you can't push me too far, there's no space in my heart where I don't wanna love you…_"

He played the final chords and let them linger in the stillness of the air. Sam shifted his guitar to his back so he could stand flush against Mercedes, his hands cupping her shoulders. He leaned forward to see her face buried in her hands, and she trembled.

"I…_know_…I probably overstepped all kinds of boundaries with that, but my gift to you is me, all the time. I know it's not much—"

"Shut the fuck up, Sam," she whispered, turning around and grasping the halves of his coat. "It's enough; it's _always_ been enough. I just…" She shook her head and rested her forehead against his chest. "Damn you…"

He held her fully, kissing the top of her head. He had no intention of ever becoming "the other man"; having been cheated on did give him a certain level of empathy with The Bulldozer; but he wasn't going to sit idly by, either. He'd thrown down the gauntlet, right there along with his heart, and the only thing he could do now was wait for Mercedes to pick them up to keep or hand back to him.

Not that he'd take his heart back; it was hers…always. He knew that now.

"Mercedes—"

"I've missed you," she confessed on a whisper.

Sam let out a slow breath and held her closer. "I've missed you too. I still do."

She burrowed into him. "Me too."

There was resignation in her tone, and Sam smoothed a hand down the back of her head. "You're not leaving him, are you?"

She shook her head. "He's good to me, Sam. I owe it to him to give us a shot."

"After four months you're still not sure?" Sam asked with a bit of an edge.

Mercedes jerked back and pointed an angry finger at him. "I don't make a habit from bouncing from guy to guy, and I'm not gonna start now. You being back shouldn't change anything—"

"But it does," Sam insisted, grasping her finger and pulling her back to him, her body pressed against his. "And we both know it." Sam threaded their fingers together then kissed her knuckles. "If there were no boyfriend, you'd be in my arms where you belong."

Mercedes stretched out her fingers to brush the pads of them against his lips. "I'm here now."

He smiled and kissed each finger. "And here you'll stay."

Mercedes rolled her eyes but grinned, resting her head back on Sam's chest. "Only for the next five minutes."

Sam wouldn't ask for more; she was already being more generous than he had any right to demand. But he nuzzled her temple and caressed her back the same way he had right before he'd gotten into the U-haul truck and driven out of Lima all those months ago. Mercedes released a shuddering sigh and leaned into his ministrations, then told him to tell her how Stacy and Stevie had been since the move.

"I do hope there are some cookies in that bag," Sam said after he did so.

"Of course, and an extra baggie for you."

"You're so good to me," he said on a laugh and kissed her cheek.

Mercedes scrunched up her nose adorably but pulled back to the point she was completely out of his arms. Sam let out a deep breath and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"You're my friend, Sam."

"That's not the only thing I am, and we both know it."

She averted her eyes for a brief second. "Tell your family Merry Christmas for me."

"You can call them and tell them yourself," Sam said with a shrug. "My folks still love you."

Another grin formed on her face. "Mine still love you too."

"And you?"

She worried her bottom lip but nodded, and Sam narrowed his eyes, sensing there was a caveat in that beautiful brain of hers.

"'I Will Always Love You' or 'My Heart Will Go On?'"

She burst out laughing and he grinned, but arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer. "You can't leave without an answer, Mercedes Jones."

She looked down for a moment, then shook her head and sighed. "'Dilemma'."

"What?"

"Look it up, boo. I gotta go before…Merry Christmas, Sam."

"You can't give me a title without an artist, that's not fair."

"You did with me."

"But those songs are legendary!"

"I take offense that Patti LaBelle isn't legendary!"

"She sang it?"

"Sort of. And that's really—I shouldn't have even said that!"

"But you did; means you want me to find it," Sam said.

She said nothing to that, turning on her heel toward the door.

"I'm walking you out—"

"You don't have to—"

"I do, especially since I was so ungentlemanly enough to let you walk in by yourself. My mama would take me over her knee if she knew that…so please don't tell her."

Mercedes chuckled and rolled her eyes, but didn't dissuade him from accompanying her during the short walk to her car. He even opened the door after she used the keyless entry to unlock it, then crouched down so they were eye level and braced himself in the gap of the open door once she was securely inside. Snow had started drifting down and he looked above at the gray sky.

"Be careful out there, lady," he told her.

"You, too, especially with that drive. Text me to let me know you made it."

He grinned. "Yes'm, _Miz_ Jones."

She turned the key and her car roared to life. Sam held out his hand and after a slight hesitation, she took it.

"I'd open your gift sooner rather than later," she said, drifting her thumb along the heel of his hand.

"If I were Puck, I'd say something very naughty right now," said in a Matthew McConaughey impression.

Mercedes cracked up again, falling against her seat and using her free hand to cover her smile.

"I never like it when you do that," Sam said, pulling her hand way from her mouth. "You have a beautiful smile and laugh." He tightened his hands around hers, and felt her start to tremble again. He flicked his eyes to her and saw her staring at him with such longing it was all he could do not to kiss her. Instead, he brought both of her hands to his lips for a long moment, closing his eyes to fortify himself against making cheaters out of them.

"Merry Christmas, Mercedes," he whispered against her knuckles.

"You, too, Sam, and Happy New Year."

He stood then and carefully shut her door, standing outside until he couldn't see the taillights of her car anymore. He then immediately, grabbed the gift-filled shopping bag and logged on to Rachel's computer, Googling "Patti LaBelle" and "Dilemma". At first he was confused by the search engine's results until he realized "Dilemma" was a Nelly song that had sampled a Patti LaBelle song, so he YouTube'd it to listen.

As the track played, Sam grinned lopsidedly and slipped on the fingerless gloves Mercedes had hand-knitted for him.

"Best. Christmas. _Ever_."

* * *

><p><strong>Songs (YouTube)<strong>

"If You Don't Wanna Love Me" (Acoustic) by James Morrison - .com/watch?v=JwTw_3oM9m4 (shout out to an anon on Tumblr for hitting me up on this version; it's glorious!)

"Love, Need, and Want You" by Patti LaBelle - .com/watch?v=NZ_oKq8jwu4

"Dilemma" by Nelly feat. Kelly Rowland - .com/watch?v=W_DYQguNd9g


	7. Color Me Mine

**Title:** Color Me Mine  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E09.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes finally begins to understand the gravity of what it means to be Sam's.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Rating primarily for adult language. This is a flashback, even though it isn't designated as such in the text - but Mercedes is thinking about the summer during their winter break, and a particularly pivotal moment specifically. Please forgive any lingering errors and enjoy!

* * *

><p>It'd been a matter of fate, of serendipity, even, that one of the couples from Sam's church had come around out of the blue to invite Stacy and Stevie out for a movie and Chuck E. Cheese's with their own son and daughter. After a quick phone call to his parents, Mercedes and Sam were suddenly relieved of babysitting duties and were left with many canisters of washable tempera paint, blank face masks, and alone time.<p>

It was a wonder the boy hadn't attacked her as soon as the motel door had closed.

Even in the dim, natural light of the room, Mercedes could feel the intensity of Sam's green-eyed gaze. He leaned against the door as he did so, making her fidget as she fussed over the materials she'd brought to help entertain his siblings.

"Um…I suppose you're not interested in painting?" she asked stupidly.

Sam outright laughed at her, no doubt relishing in the rare role reversal of Mercedes saying something ridiculously corny and obvious while Sam affectionately judged her for it. She even did Sam's usual resulting shy grin, still worrying the paintbrushes and water jar she'd just filled before plans had gone wondrously awry.

"No, we can still paint. You know I loved going to Color Me Mine…"

Mercedes frowned, not because that had been a popular date spot for him and Quinn, but because he and his family couldn't go there as often anymore. She'd remembered, well before she and Sam had broached a romantic dimension to their relationship, when Stacy had proudly shown her a ceramic unicorn Sam had painted for her, and Sam had looked on wistfully as his baby sister waxed poetic about it. She's squeezed his shoulder in comfort and had brought paint and materials for them to have their own "Color Me Mine" studio in the motel the next time she'd come over. It'd become a bi-monthly event for them; in fact, Mercedes had several Stacy Evans Originals decorating her vanity at that very moment.

She smiled at that thought as she regarded him again, noticing his furrowed brow and puckered lips. "What's wrong?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I didn't make you uncomfortable mentioning—?"

"Of course not," Mercedes said, shaking her head for emphasis. "What you had with Quinn had nothing to do with me. Nor did what you had with Santana had anything to do with me."

"I had a lot of frustration with Santana," Sam huffed out, and Mercedes smirked.

"I'm sure."

Sam's eyes widened at that, and then he smirked as well. He continued to smirk as he finally stalked toward her, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, his long-sleeved T-shirt, even though it did get quite warm in Lima, tight across his well-toned torso. Mercedes's eyes drank him all in, disbelief no doubt stark on her face, that she finally had unfettered access to him. If someone had told her at the beginning of the school year Sam Evans would be her clandestine boyfriend, she probably would've laughed herself to death at the impossibility of it. She wasn't popular anymore, not since she'd resigned from the Cheerios, so Sam didn't have that to gain by dating her the way Puck had. And honestly, where she was from, white guys didn't check for black girls like that—_particularly_ not fat black ones—not that this reality meant some grand devastation for her life. She'd been willing to date whomever liked her that she liked in return—up to and including Kurt, whom she'd intuitively known hadn't been swinging the heterosexual bat—but she'd been so desperate for affection she'd allowed Quinn and Santana to convince her otherwise.

Not one of her proudest moments, yet that experience caused her to be more discerning and pragmatic when it came to dating. That was why Puck had been ideal; there were no illusions they were a match for all time, but she'd gotten a very good friend out of the deal, just as she'd done with Kurt. Perhaps when whatever was going on with Sam fizzled out, she'd be three for three in that department.

Except…whatever _this_ was felt decidedly different than her previous two attempts. Game-changing. Irrevocable. Like a steel trap vibrating with the need to snare her and never let go.

The trap—Sam's arms. The bait—Sam's heart.

There were worst fates—_far, far_ worse—but she was on the brink of seventeen and plenty of life to live on her own before she cleaved it to someone else. And she wasn't Quinn or even Rachel, yearning to be the earth to some boy's sun; and yet here was Sam, all bright and golden like one, filling her with warmth like one, giving her life like one.

She'd blossomed, and hadn't even realized she'd been so furled.

She jumped a little at Sam's long, guitar-callused fingers touching her jaw. Three weeks into their official romance and she still was getting used to his tactile affection. She'd been primed on heady glances, furtive smiles, and not-so-accidental brushes. Untethered caresses and lips that said far more with kisses than words still made Mercedes feel as if she were handling a livewire of emotion, sending sizzles and sparks throughout her that left her breathless and bereft of more.

"We've gotta work on this," Sam murmured, bringing his thumb to the point of her chin. "You startin' every time I touch you. Makes me think you don't like it."

She liked it way too much, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "Even though my name's Mercedes I'm not one. Going zero to sixty like this isn't gonna be smooth for me like that."

His lopsided grin made her heart wobble. "Zero to sixty, eh?"

She playfully jerked her face from his touch and sucked her teeth. "Boy, let me pack this up!"

He grasped her hand as soon as it settled over a few paintbrushes. He then threaded their fingers together, and her heart's wobble settled to a deep, almost profound beating. She curled her thumb around his and exhaled slowly, smiling bashfully when Sam's lips brushed the bare slope of her shoulder revealed by the summer-yellow tank she wore.

"I wanna paint," he said, his lips grazing her skin. They were a little chapped, but that thrilled instead of repulsed.

"All right."

"I wanna paint you."

She gave him a skeptical look then. "Look, I know you bleed James Cameron, but Jack Dawson you are not and a French girl I ain't."

He snickered and kissed her cheek lingeringly. "No. I'm Sam, and you're my lady. I much prefer bleeding that."

Despite the grin he wore, there was a ferocious truth in his eyes that snagged her breath and made her heartbeat deepen even more. And somewhere in the back of her romance-mushed mind a voice sounding weirdly like Tina's said that heaviness in her heart was Sam's truth being pumped through her veins, something her mind still might be able to deny but the rest of her couldn't.

"I'm _mine_," Mercedes blurted.

Good ol' brain.

He just grinned, shrugging. "We're co-owners, then."

She burst out laughing and Sam joined her, bringing her fully into his arms for a hug. Automatically she burrowed into his solid form, snickering when Sam began humming "My Heart Will Go On" with such drama she fully expected to see a doomed string quartet playing behind him.

"C'mon, lady, let me paint you," Sam said into her ear. Her eventual acquiescence didn't surprise her, and that freaked her out just a little.

She was about to sit in the chair when Sam shook his head and led her to the bed instead, spreading the sheet she'd brought to protect the table over the bed's comforter instead. She arched an eyebrow at him, especially when he tugged on the collar of her tank.

"Clothes off."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to paint you."

"Didn't I just _say_ I ain't French?"

He laughed but he was blushing. "No, you can keep the other tank on—"

"Camisole."

"What?"

She shook her head. "Unimportant, but why do you want me to take off my clothes?"

"I have a vision," he said with a beaming smile, and more parts of her unfurled in response.

"Oh…"

"All right?" Sam asked, squeezing her hand.

"Yeah," she said, her eyes trained on the ceiling instead of him. If she looked at him, she wouldn't be able to breathe.

There was a beat of silence. "Wait—_really_?"

"Ask me again and I'll lose my nerve."

He squeezed her hand once more. "I'll just…be at the table…not looking at you…if that makes you more comfortable."

She nodded, not bothering to affect nonchalance. "Yes, thanks."

Mercedes didn't immediately begin undressing when his back was to her, needing a moment or several to build up her confidence. But then she focused on her heart's deep beat and the trust within it, and she made quick work of all of her clothes—camisole included—down to her bra and panties. Her nipples certainly perked up in hello at the sudden lack of layers and anticipation for what she wasn't quite ready to contemplate. The bra's padding masked it, but she felt the cups chafe against the sensitive points. Clearing her throat, Mercedes lay back on the bed Stevie and Stacy slept on, determined to think about that instead of the fact she was now the most exposed she'd ever been to a man who wasn't a doctor, family, or gay.

While Sam prepared the paint, he spoke about his concern for Quinn of all things, how she wasn't attending church with her mother anymore and had all but stopped coming over to spend time with Stacy. Admittedly, Mercedes felt guilty she didn't have much to contribute to the conversation, because she and the blonde hadn't had a meaningful conversation since the final glee meeting of the year. She mentally resolved to call Quinn tonight. Maybe she could round her and Tina up for an impromptu sleepover—

Mercedes yelped when she felt hands grab her bare feet. She braced herself on her elbows and saw Sam streak purple and orange along her instep and ankles with his fingers.

"Warning would've been nice!" she chastised, glad she conveyed annoyance uncontaminated by the lust she felt from having a boxers only–clad Sam Evans in her sights.

Sam didn't apologize, too busy taking in her scantily clad form. The urge to cover herself was strong, but then Sam tenderly kissed her knee before nuzzling it with his cheek.

"You're more beautiful than I'd ever imagined."

Her immediate relief she'd had the foresight to Nair her legs the night before vanished with his quiet declaration. And though she was still a little disconcerted, the genuineness of his tone settled much of her apprehension.

"Sam…"

He grinned lopsidedly at her, now kissing her shin. "Yeah, just relax, 'Cedes. I got you."

Hot and bothered was what Sam got her even though his hands remained on the safe areas of her body. He'd brought the paints with him, settling them on the floor between the two beds, but he used his fingers instead of brushes. Mercedes didn't know if he had a rhyme or reason—just multicolored streaks everywhere—but he always kissed the portion of skin before he painted it. She tried very hard not to become aroused because she instinctively understood that wasn't the point of this exercise; but between his hands, his lips, his _breath_ gliding along her, Mercedes had no choice but to succumb.

Especially since his hands and mouth hovered over her panty line.

"I can smell you, Mercedes…"

She groaned.

"Nice to know I have such an effect on you."

She rose up and glared at him again, wondering why he sounded so surprised by that, but then got distracted by how it seemed a rainbow had exploded all over her. She blinked at him in confusion. He smiled at her, had the unmitigated gall to place a quick kiss the core of her through her panties, then slid up her body, his mouth leading the way while stopping at her chest, neck, and mouth. Paint-slicked finger cradled her jaw and the bare weight of Sam settled atop her, enabling her to feel how very blessed he was behind his boxers.

She moaned.

"Yep," Sam whispered against her lips. "I feel the same way."

"You're hard," she said just as softly.

"Yep," he agreed again, moving one of his hands back down to curl around her waist. Mercedes breathed heavily, the swells of her breasts billowing above the cups of her bra. They were also streaked with paint, and Sam smiled down at his handiwork, obviously uncaring he was also now adorned with paint. That smiled tugged at something inside of her, causing her hips to buck up into his hardness, and they both groaned at the sensation.

"Did you do all of this to have sex with me?" she asked into his ear as his mouth buried into the crook of her neck.

He breathed into her, shaking his head. "No."

She was relieved, because she'd meant that zero-to-sixty comment. They'd never made out unclothed—any skin-to-skin touching had been underneath shirts and shorts, though the shorts had been an accident because both of them had gotten carried away. That didn't mean she hadn't stroked him to completion and hadn't enjoyed it almost as much as he had.

She also hadn't ever attempted to touch him below the belt again, either.

"Mercedes?" he asked, pulling back to look into her eyes.

"Yes, Sam?" she asked, biting her bottom lip and anxious for whatever he wanted to say.

"Can I take a picture of you like this?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

He looked down at her multi-hued body. "You know how you can take your ceramic home from Color Me Mine? As much as I'd love to actually keep you here with me, I don't think our parents would go for that."

At first she could only blink at him as his words settled into all of the opened spaces in her being. Then her eyes widened. "Did—did you just…color me _yours_?"

Her disbelief must've embarrassed him, for he suddenly scrambled off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his hands holding up his forehead as he shoved fingers through his hair and muttered how _corny_ and _dorky_ he was. Mercedes started to speak, but then, she spied the canisters on the floor.

Sam jumped at the feel of her paint-slicked hands slinking up his back, and he looked at her over his shoulder with wide green eyes. Mercedes smiled and kissed his cheek at the corner of his mouth even as her hands smoothed over his shoulders toward his chest, causing her breasts to press intimately against his shoulder blades. Sam twisted his head further to kiss her fully, his tongue swiping inside her mouth as if to gather her taste for himself, and his hands pressed hers over his heartbeat.

She pulled away, but not before nuzzling their noses together. "Now…how about that photo?"

Sam grabbed her phone, wiping his hands on one of the ratty towels Mercedes had brought from home before he did; and after a quick tutorial from her on how to use the camera, Sam stretched out his hand to capture them both. Mercedes remained behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder, but she was more interested in teasing her boyfriend than smiling for the shot. After about five attempts, Sam gave up himself, tossing her phone on the bed his parents shared to kiss her properly and completely as he burrowed her into the bedding. She was sure she looked a Technicolor mess, but Sam's lips and touch and light couldn't bring her to give a good gotdamn. He was going hard in the paint—pun _absolutely_ intended—and she planned to cheer him to a high score.

But the telephone rang.

Sam had been quite content in her cleavage, his tongue and lips getting more acquainted with it than they'd ever been; but it was the motel phone ringing, which meant family was calling. Mercedes remained recumbent on the bed as Sam had his murmured conversation, her eyes closed to help herself slow down her thunderous heartbeat.

She didn't move when he hung up the phone, but did giggle when he returned back to her cleavage with a groan.

"Sammy…"

He rested his cheek on her left breast and smiled up at her for a moment before letting it fade. "My parents are on their way back with my siblings."

"Okay," she said, kissing his forehead. "Let me up so I can change."

He slid his arms underneath her to hold her by the waist. "I like you like this."

"I'll bet!"

He beamed at her. "You'll win."

Heat filled her cheeks at his teasing. "C'mon, boo, let's start cleaning up."

Sam behaved, even held open her skirt for her to step in, although he didn't miss the opportunity to pepper kisses along her bare stomach before her camisole and tank masked it from him. Sam just slipped on low-riding jeans, so Mercedes remained more distracted than she preferred while trying to carefully fold the paint-streaked sheet and tighten lids on the paint canisters. Thankfully, the mess was minimal.

"You know you don't have to leave," Sam said when she finished packing the straw beach bag she'd used to tote the materials.

"I'm covered in paint," Mercedes said on a chuckle.

"The visualization of my feelings for you," Sam replied, his tone light yet so serious.

Her jaw dropped. "Sam…"

He shrugged, averted his eyes, and laughed self-derisively. "Corny, I know, but my parents used to take me to a therapist because of my dyslexia, and painting was an exercise we did often because words were hard but I could draw. And words are hard with you sometimes, Mercedes, because I don't think they're enough; so I painted my feelings instead, and I didn't think there was a better canvas than you."

His words settled upon her like early-morning dew and caught his light, making her shimmer. Her heart felt full to bursting. If those were his "easy" words, God help her if she ever heard his "difficult" ones!

"You look like you're gonna hurl."

Mercedes shook her head but took a stabilizing breath. "I'm completely overwhelmed."

He nodded once in understanding, heading to his parents' bed to get the cell phone she'd completely forgotten was there. He scrolled through it and smiled. "I'm surprised we even got one that works, but I think it's perfect, don't you?"

She wrapped an arm about his waist as she looked at her phone's screen. There was paint everywhere, all along their cheeks and noses—even in their hair—but Mercedes was focused on _them_. She was kissing Sam's cheek with her eyes closed and he was looking at her with a soft grin and such affection in his eyes. The image was a little blurry because Sam probably wasn't even thinking about the camera then, his attention all on her.

"I wish you could send this to me," Sam murmured. They'd sold their computer and downgraded their phones to save on expenses.

"I'll give you a hardcopy," Mercedes said, and he smiled, kissing her temple.

Sam carried her bag in one hand and held hers with the other as they walked to her car. He framed her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers as they leaned against the driver's door.

"I didn't mean to freak you out back there," he said eventually.

"I know," Mercedes said squeezing his wrists tenderly. "It's okay."

He kissed her. "Call me when you get home."

She hadn't called him immediately upon arriving, needing to shower despite her reluctance to remove the paint, but pragmatism trumped fancy. It wasn't until after she'd put her clothes and the sheet in the wash that she called Sam.

Her doorbell rang at the same time.

Something was wrong—she felt that in her spirit—and she rushed to the door, opening it to reveal a devastated Sam on her step.

"Boo?"

He shook his head and gathered her into him, his hold so tight she could barely breathe. She convinced him to loosen his hold just enough to bring him in the house, but he collapsed against the closed door and drew her back into the steel trap of his arms.

Caught, but willingly so.

"What's wrong, Sam?" she asked when his shuddering breaths evened up a little.

"My dad found a job. In Kentucky. He starts in two weeks."

Her heart cracked open at that announcement, leaving her mind to soak up a simple truth of her own—that while she'd been so terrified of falling in love with Sam Evans she'd completely left herself open to growing in love with him instead.

How apropos.


	8. Accepting It

**Title:** Accepting "It"  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E10.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The glee club's assignment has Sam contemplating his own future.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This is a short one, though longer than a drabble. Please forgive any lingering errors and enjoy!

* * *

><p>Operation: We Found Love—Phase I was a rousing success. Mr. Schuester got the yes from his ladylove after an extravagant proposal and everyone—even members of the varsity mixed synchronized swimming team and Coach Roz (who insisted she'd gotten some bad chlorine in her eyes)—cheered as the newly engaged couple kissed. The glee guys all congratulated Sam on his brilliant idea as they changed into their street clothes; and Finn admitted that while he'd never consider synchronized swimming sexy, it could be romantic, which, he supposed, was fair enough.<p>

To no one's surprise, they were all dressed and ready to go before the glee girls were, so they decided to wait for them in the bleachers, Mike carrying Artie up the stairs so he wouldn't be left out. Sam looked into the still pool with a small grin on his face, amazed everything had worked out in such a short amount of time. It was a testament to how good Coach Roz _actually_ was to choreograph a routine like that, even if her Olympic medal was in individual synchronized swimming.

"Okay, Sam Evans," she'd begun when he'd presented her with the idea, eyeing him in a way that had reminded him of Mercedes, and he couldn't have helped his grin. "And why should I do this for you, and you brand-spankin' new?"

"I'm a romantic," he'd said with a shrug. "I'd do anything for love."

"_Mmm-hmm_," Coach Roz had intoned, raising her eyebrow then. "And who is it?"

"Mercedes Jones."

"Your teacher is proposing to a student?"

"No but—you know Mercedes?"

Coach Roz had scoffed. "Chile ain't but 'bout ten black kids who _go_ to this school—of course I know her!" Then she'd grinned. "Sing in the church choir, too; gal had her voice installed by Jesus himself—no wonder He gave you them lips…"

Coach Roz had then looked him up and down, snuggled her clipboard closer to her chest, and sucked her teeth as she'd turned and walked away. "I'll help you come up with something, Sam Evans. Figures that'd be the reason you'd join my team, even if you do have the perfect swimmer's body…"

Everyone had worked extra hard, coming to practice early before school and staying well until the sun had set afterwards. And seeing Mercedes in her swimsuit and swim cap had taken him back to that lake where they'd spent more time acting Stacy and Stevie's ages while frolicking in the water than anything else. Although, there were those piggyback rides he'd give Mercedes that would always end up under the docks where decidedly more "adult" antics would take place—

Sam almost fell off the bench at the towel strike Mike gave him, and he turned red at everyone's laughter.

"That's not funny."

"You were grinnin' kind of hard, there, dude!" Puck said on a snicker, slapping Sam's bicep with the back of his hand. "Wonder what you were thinking about?"

"Or _who_?" Artie said, high-fiving Mike.

"Guilty," Sam said with a shrug. "She's never far."

"So…was this all just for Ms. Pillsbury's benefit, or Mercedes' as well?" Blaine asked, "because Kurt let it slip Mercedes loves Esther Williams."

"Who?" Rory asked.

"A golden-MGM darling featured in many majestic musical numbers with synchronized swimming—the gardenias and '40s-inspired swimsuits tipped me off," Kurt said primly, crossing one knee over the other in his signature sitting position. "I have to say, well played, Mr. Evans."

"Thank you," Sam said.

"Definitely; it got Ms. Pillsbury to say yes," Mike said.

"I still think Jagger could've gotten a yes," Artie insisted. "But, c'est la vie."

They heard the girls before they saw them, Tina, Sugar, and Brittany singing "We Found Love" at the top of their lungs as they danced before the rest of them. Santana and Quinn were watching them fondly and bringing up the rear were Rachel and Mercedes, Rachel's arm through Mercedes' while her free hand smoothed down flyaway tendrils of Mercedes' hair, still styled the way it'd been for the proposal. They were in deep conversation about something, Mercedes' brows furrowing every now and again, but then Sugar sang very loudly and very off-key, and Mercedes burst into laughter, leaving Rachel to hug Sugar from behind.

"Hey, Trouty!" Santana said, stopping once the girls were in front of the boys. She then began to clap, and all the other girls joined in, Sugar twirling her towel over her head for added affect. The boys also added their applause, slapping his shoulders in an encore of their congratulations in the locker room. For his part, Sam stood and bowed, earning laughs from the others. However, his eyes remained trained on Mercedes, who looked at him with such a soft, fond expression that his heart squeezed.

"Thank y'all for working so hard on it with me," he said, looking at them all again. "I think it's safe to say we passed the assignment!"

"We sure did!" Tina said, slapping Brittany's hand, "although if you can think of something so romantic for someone else, I wonder how _yours_ will be!"

Quinn playfully put her hands on her hips. "He's been there, done that; and this sure beat out _my_ proposal!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't even _get_ one!" Santana added.

"Do we really want to revisit that?" Sam asked Santana pointedly.

She pursed her lips but nodded in concession.

"Did you get one, Mercedes?" Sugar asked.

It suddenly got very quiet and Mercedes yanked her arms from Sugar. "Uh—"

"From _Shane_—"

"_Santana Maria Lopez_!" Mercedes hissed.

"What? You just don't seem the type to have 'cocoa babies' out of wedlock," Santana muttered, making air quotes for emphasis.

"After the first Grammy, right?" Sam asked, rolling his eyes at the chamois he squeezed in his hands. "At least you're consistent."

"Oh, _no_!" Mercedes snapped, glaring at him, and Sam met it. "You don't get to be mad!"

"But I get to be hurt? Is that how this is working?"

That soft look returned in her eyes, but guilt accompanied it; and Sam sighed, going down the steps until he reached the railing. Mercedes crossed her arms over her chest in a protective measure, the same position she got in whenever he was about to say something she didn't want to hear.

Like the truth.

"As good and fantastic as this proposal was, this isn't how I'd ask my future wife," Sam said, looking directly in her eyes.

"You say that as if it's relevant to my interests," Mercedes sassed, yet her tone was whisper-quiet.

He leaned further over the bar. "To steal Coach Roz's expression—'Don't act brand new,' Mercedes Jones."

She gaped at him for a moment. "In your dreams!" Mercedes accused, eyes narrowing.

"Every night, and many times during the day," Sam said with a grin.

Her face scrunched up, but he knew it was because she didn't want to laugh by the way she pulled her lips into her mouth. "You need to _stop_!"

"Can't stop—won't stop!" Sam impersonated, complete with the P. Diddy shimmy from one of Dave Chappelle's skits. Mercedes burst out laughing then, as did everyone else. Admittedly, he'd forgotten they'd had an audience, but he didn't care. He'd already declared himself; none of this was news.

He crooked his finger at her, and she approached, though kept enough distance between them to be respectable. And as much as he wanted to draw her close, he wouldn't. He would honor her requests, and always would.

"You looked beautiful, but you always do."

"Sam—"

"But stopping with you is like asking me to stop breathin', and I quite like breathin', Mercedes," Sam said.

"I want to slap you."

"All slapping isn't bad."

"Wanky!"

Mercedes drew her lips into her mouth at Santana's comment, but abruptly shook her head and stepped back. "I'm leaving now."

"No, you're not," Sam called to her retreating form, Tina and Sugar rushing to her side. "You never left me, and I know I never left you; and until you look at Shane the way you look at me, I'm not gonna stop. Sorry I'm not sorry about that."

To her credit, Mercedes didn't stop walking, nor did she look back at him; but he knew she heard him in her heart. It was just getting her brain to listen too.

"Are you quite done with this Nicholas Sparks scene?" Santana asked after a moment of silence descended upon them.

"Nah, it's only Nicholas Sparks if somebody dies at the end…"

Everyone looked to Puck.

"_Really_?" Finn asked.

"So I like the occasional tearjerker—screw me. Santana does too! It was our post-coital ritual!"

Santana gasped then promised bloody murder with her eyes.

"It's one hundred percent true," Brittany agreed.

"Better than falling asleep immediately afterwards," Artie said, glaring mildly at Brittany.

"If I fall asleep it means I enjoyed myself," Brittany said with a shrug, and Artie and Santana smiled smugly while Puck frowned.

"Hold up—!"

Sam returned to his spot to gather his things, grinning slightly at the fraternal squeeze on his shoulder. He looked up to see Finn's crooked grin.

"Yeah?"

"I have faith in you guys," Finn said. "She'll figure it out."

Sam shook his head and huffed. "She _has_ figured it out; the problem is, she hasn't accepted it. There was no 'fling' this summer; flings don't do what they did to us. Flings don't give you a glimpse to your forever. Remember what I said to you in New York? That if I was in love with a girl I'd go for it? Well, I went for it, _got it_, and I'm not going to give _it_ up without a fight."

With that, he lifted Artie in his arms and carried him down to his wheelchair, all the while plotting out Phase II of Operation: We Found Love—the Sam and Mercedes Edition.


	9. Sparks to Romulus

**Title:** Sparks to Romulus  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Shane/Mercedes/Sam, ND  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S310.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes had had plans for her senior year, but Sam had to go and wreck them - _twice_.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This occurs directly after "Accepting 'It'". Please enjoy and forgive lingering errors!

* * *

><p>The first thing Mercedes did when she saw Shane was given him the biggest hug she'd ever given him, so big he'd stumbled back from the force of her embrace, but chuckled and wrapped his arms around her in return.<p>

"Did everything go good, baby?" he asked, his chest rumbling with his speech.

She nodded, tears stinging her eyes, and held him tighter.

She knew she probably still smelled like the pool and her hair would be a frizzy mess once it dried completely, but Shane didn't seem to mind, rocking her almost fraternally.

It was like hugging Kurt minus the sass and reckless commentary as he blisteringly critiqued the tragic fashion choices of McKinley High's students.

The revelation made her freeze and pull away, but Shane cupped her face in his large hands and brushed away her tears, frowning.

"What's wrong, Mercedes?"

"I'm overwhelmed," she replied. That was as much truth as she was willing to reveal.

"You did do some big proposal for your teacher; Ms. Pillsbury say yes?" Mercedes nodded. "That's good. I know girls get emotional over stuff like that, so you're good."

Mercedes grinned and nodded. "Even me, sometimes."

"_Especially_ you!" Shane said on a laugh, wrapping arm around her shoulders as they began walking down the hall toward her locker. "You got this front, Mercedes Jones, but behind it is a big ol' marshmallow!"

"Humph!"

"Whatever; I pulverize people on the field, but everyone knows I'm just a big ol' teddy bear," Shane said, squeezing Mercedes' shoulders gently once they reached her locker. "That's why we're good together; we get each other."

They did, which was why Mercedes had agreed to go out with him a month after Sam had left, because Shane had made the heartache a little less. He hadn't pressured her, either, gently flirting with her while he'd bussed tables at the Lima Bean, complimenting her on her singing voice (she and her mp3 player had been in a torrid love/hate relationship those two weeks after Sam's departure); then her laugh when she'd gotten a rare, yet hilarious text from Kurt showing his dismayed face at Blaine's outfit during their shopping excursion in Columbus. It wasn't until the fourth trip to the Lima Bean in the middle of July, when Shane had paid for her coffee, that Mercedes had warmed up to him. He'd said there were no strings, and she'd believed him; but her mother hadn't raised her to be ungrateful, so she'd opened up her empty chair to him should he ever want to steal a break while she was around.

Obviously, she'd seen him around before; there weren't many black students at McKinley, after all, but they hadn't spoken—not even when she and the other glee girls had joined he football team. The most they'd done was high-five each other after the game, but then the glee football guys had all but formed a perimeter around the glee girls during the championship party and that'd been the end of that.

The way Mercedes had seen it, however, Shane was her window to the door Sam had closed when he'd moved to Kentucky, and she'd needed the fresh air. When all of her other friends were busy with whatever their highs or lows were during the summer, Shane would listen to her, vouch for her; and those moments when she'd come close to tears, it'd been his hand, a little dry from work, but comforting all the same, covering hers in support.

Not the same as Sam's, but it would do.

_It_'d done so well, Mercedes had all but convinced herself she'd moved on from those intense six weeks she'd had with Sam Evans; convinced herself it'd been a fling, for she'd certainly been flung to the stars on Sam's gazes and touches and kisses. Every teenage experience should have one good fling, something to tell the kids when they first started feeling their own first flushes of romance.

There was nothing earthshattering about Shane, nothing to discombobulate her or take her from her path. She would own senior year and Shane would be right there with her, excelling on the gridiron while she finally fought for and won her spotlight in glee. There'd be no need for a secret relationship because she'd be outside of that incestuous glee-love bubble, and really, who would try Shane Tinsley with his massive size and ability to crush his opponents with a single tackle?

And though senior year hadn't quite worked out as seamlessly as she'd hoped, it hadn't been the complete disaster she'd dreaded back at the end of June, either.

Shane was steady, nonthreatening, well meaning, and _good_. He was a _good_ boyfriend, the perfect boyfriend for a teenager to have. And even though he liked to talk about future plans, and had even mentioned children once or twice, it lacked the weight of genuine intention. He said "when I'm in the NFL" differently than how he said "when we have kids". There was resolution with former, whimsy with the other.

Mercedes could handle Shane's whimsy.

"We still on for Friday?" he asked, pulling Mercedes from her musings.

"Yes," she said automatically, gathering her books she'd need for homework and flashing him a smile. It faltered very briefly when she heard the rest of the glee club coming down the hall, still on their high of a successful proposal. She rolled her eyes when Santana slipped in between them, blowing a kiss to Shane who also rolled his eyes but nodded a greeting.

"So…Breadstix…now…you comin'?"

"You are so rude."

"This isn't news, and you love me anyway," Santana said with a shrug. "Schuester's paying."

Mercedes blinked. "Are you serious? Between you and Finn that's easily a $1000 bill!"

"No, just Finn; breadsticks are endless, remember?"

Mercedes huffed and rolled her eyes again, patently ignoring a powerful gaze that made her clutch her books tighter to her chest. She met Santana's knowing smirk and glared at her.

"Shane—"

"It's fine," he said with a nod. "I was about to tell you I have to meet Coach Beiste anyway, but I'm glad everything worked out, babe."

Santana didn't bother moving when Shane bent down to kiss her, grunting when Mercedes leaned around her so Shane could brush her lips with his. Shane then nodded once to the glee club, his eyes fixating on Sam for a brief moment, before going down the hall.

A very distinctly awkward silence fell over the group.

"Well, that was the most _un__scintillating_ kiss I'd ever seen."

It was only by the grace of God Mercedes didn't actually growl. "Santana—"

"Seriously! I thought that Frankenteen/Hobbit slobber in the choir room the other day held the title, but you two couldn't light a fire if you struck a match in an all-oxygen room—!"

"Hey—!"

"Santana!" she said firmly over Finn's and Rachel's outburst, flirting with a shout. Santana looked at her wide-eyed before settling into her comfortable smirk again.

"Yes?"

"I know this is difficult for you to believe, but not every kiss is supposed to 'light a fire'," Mercedes said.

Santana pulled a face as she sauntered to Brittany. "Then you're kissing the wrong person," she insisted, mimicking the peck Shane had given Mercedes with Brittany, but their reactions were completely different. There was a smolder between them that flushed the cheeks and sparked knowing smiles.

"I've been telling her that since forever. Maybe she'll listen to you—"

Mercedes slammed her locker shut with more force than required. "Oh, _hell_ to the naw!"

She turned to see Sam now wearing Santana's smirk, his complete focus on her. She held her books tighter to her chest and glared back as good as she'd ever glared.

"I'm just agreeing with Santana," Sam said with a faux innocent shrug.

"You're about to cross a line."

"That _line_ shouldn't even be there, Mercedes."

Sam had said it with a raised eyebrow and as lightly as a cloud, but it was heavy with his truth that she wasn't equipped to handle right then with the entire glee club watching them. How was it they'd descended into two conversations about whatever their relationship was with an audience within twenty minutes of each other? This was why she'd wanted them to be a secret in the first place, but Sam Evans was saying "damn the secrets!"

Damn _him_! _This_ Sam Evans was an asshole!

"But it's there, and you need to respect it," Mercedes ultimately said after the strained silence between them all.

Sam clenched his jaw and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shaking his head. "This is all messed up—"

"Sam—"

"You don't even _kiss_ him right!" Sam snapped, jerking his hand down the hall where Shane had long disappeared. "_Every kiss_, Mercedes, _every kiss_ we had held a spark—no, _nuclear explosions_ that sent us into outer space! Like, way passed the moon and Jupiter and Andromeda and Pandora and Romulus—_way_—!" He clamped a hand over his mouth and rocked on his heels, turning red with obvious frustration. Mercedes clamped her hand over her mouth as well, but to muffle the giggles threatening to burst.

Sam gaped at her. "Are you _laughing_ at me?" he asked, indignant.

Mercedes snorted but shook her head, her eyes bright with mirthful tears. "I'm mad at you!"

Sam narrowed his eyes, then a dangerous grin appeared on his face as he approached her, but she wasn't going to run away. She'd done that earlier, tail tucked between her legs with his words taunting each step she'd taken. Mercedes tilted her chin and hardened her mouth, and he smiled at her with something akin to pride. He then bent forward and kissed her cheek, just as innocently as she'd seen him kiss Stacy or his mother, but their bodies had never quaked as hers did, nor had their eyes fluttered as hers did, nor had their breaths shuddered out as hers did.

"See?" he whispered against her skin. "Outer space."

Mercedes blinked and the tears fell, tears that had morphed from mirthful to mournful. Sam was the astronaut, not her. She was earthbound, practical, until this summer and Sam's fanciful fantasies had sounded more like inevitabilities than anything else. She was too young for forever, wasn't she? Why couldn't she brush off Sam's teasing self-nomination to be her husband earlier that week the same way she could Shane's? Why had she had several dreams imagining herself as Mercedes Jones-Evans within weeks of dating Sam and barely any true consideration to being Mercedes Jones-Tinsley after months with Shane?

Why was marriage even on the brain for _any_ of them?

She blamed senior year for all of this.

A hand cupped her cheek and a thumb brushed away a tear, and more sparks went off inside her in a way that hadn't at all when another hand had brushed away her tears. Mercedes kept her eyes closed because she knew if she looked into those concerned green eyes, she'd start crying and not be able to stop.

"I don't like it when you cry, Mercedes."

"You think I do?" Mercedes asked quietly, relieved her voice didn't waver.

Sam sighed and dropped his hand. Luckily, no more tears fell and she took a deep breath to settle herself. Another hand grasped her bicep, but it was smaller, far more soothing.

"All right, everyone, we'll meet you there…"

A temple rested against hers and Mercedes took another breath, hearing the group shuffle along. She let out an even slower and deeper one when she felt Sam's presence leave, and only then did Mercedes open her eyes.

"Tina."

"Mercedes," Tina replied, squeezing her arm.

"Rachel…"

"I'm having some déjà vu."

Mercedes frowned. "How so?"

Rachel shrugged. "I just remember…about two years ago you claiming there weren't any boys knocking on your door for a chance with you."

Mercedes rolled her eyes but laughed, looking at her feet. "The good ol' days when I liked Kurt. Can't believe I was ever jealous of you about that."

"About what?"

"Boys fighting over you. As awful as 'Run, Joey, Run' was…I was jealous you had guys who cared that much for you to embarrass themselves so thoroughly."

"You were?" Rachel asked, far too brightly.

"Focus, Rachel," Tina said. "And Mercedes, I admire your fortitude. I was in your position. I was _weak_!"

The girls all laughed and Mercedes hugged Tina close. "I love you."

"I love you too," Tina said. "You'll figure it out."

"I think I agree with Sam, though; you already have," Rachel said. "You just have to come to terms with it."

"It's not that simple."

Rachel inhaled, preparing a rebuttal, but Tina shook her head. Rachel sighed instead. "I'm…going to go. I hope Finn waited for me, but if he didn't—"

"Yeah, I'll give you a ride to Breadstix," Mercedes promised.

Rachel bounced and clapped, then flounced toward the exit. The remaining two girls simply stood at Mercedes' locker for a moment, basking in the peace a near empty school gave them. Tina began humming something Mercedes didn't recognized, but she let the melody soothe her more.

"Was it like this for you?" Mercedes asked after a moment. "So…_consuming_?"

Tina chuckled. "Now, I know a big reason why I was so attracted to Mike was because of aesthetic reasons but…we'd talked a lot. We are in every Asian association and organization in Lima, so I knew him. I just never thought I had a chance with him."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Tina said, squeezing her arm. "Also…Artie was safe. As sweet and imperfect as he is, he was safe, even after he rightfully told me off for using my fake stutter as a crutch. But then I saw Mike with the kids at Asian camp, something inside me started to bloom—I don't know how else to describe it."

"Nuclear explosion," Mercedes muttered.

Tina giggled and rested her head on Mercedes' shoulder. "Yeah. And Santana's right. There should always be a spark every time you kiss your love. The spark had started fading with Artie even before I'd left for Asian camp, and I'd felt guilty over it. I'll admit, how I'd handled that wasn't my proudest moment; but I'm a teenager, you know? As are you, even if you are one of the more mature ones. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Mercedes nodded but didn't say anything, allowing Tina to lead her down the hall toward the exit. She already knew she wasn't going to follow that last directive. There had to be a way to resolve this that wouldn't leave her spirit torn. Loyalty versus love…

Mercedes wondered why they felt so mutually exclusive now.


	10. Loving in Wait

**Title:** Loving in Wait  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, slight Kurt/Blaine  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E13.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Just because they weren't together didn't mean Sam couldn't be there for Mercedes.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> As I'm sure everyone knows by now, the incomparable Whitney Houston has finally been laid to rest. Since she is not only _my_ personal idol but Mercedes' as well, here's my homage, through fic, to such a blessed woman who is gone too soon. Please forgive any lingering errors and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>It would be so easy for Sam to give up now; to pack it in and go back to Kentucky with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs and the remnants of his obliterated heart leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs behind him. And then he'd remember that trail would lead directly back to one Mercedes Jones, and he'd be at square one all over again.<p>

Okay—square 1.5, because at least now there was no Shane involved.

He'd known about Shane even before he'd returned. It'd been the reason he'd stopped talking to Mercedes, actually, aside from that one time she'd accidentally called him when she and New Directions had parted ways. He'd had to make himself go cold turkey with breaking contact with her, because he'd known deep within he would've fought for her, and fought _dirty_, if he'd kept up communication. And that wouldn't have been fair to her, not while he was four hours away and she was with someone who seemed to treat her right and make her smile.

But that had all been rendered moot when God had opened a window for him to return to Lima, return to _her_. Sectionals had been the perfect excuse, though one his parents had certainly seen through because his mother had warned him to be careful and patient with Mercedes. Obviously, he should've heeded her advice, or else he wouldn't be in his current, forlorn predicament.

That he would've vastly preferred last Valentine's Day over this one was something Sam had never thought would be possible. Quinn cheating on him and leaving him to spend it alone was a far better experience than having to sing next to the woman he loved about wishing she would cherish him as much as he cherished her—and knowing she did even as she refused to do anything about it. But his father had told him one knew love was real when the very things that made people love someone were the same things that cause endless frustration. Mercedes' loyalty and integrity was biting his ass hard right now; and frankly, he had no one to blame but himself for it.

Even if she'd shouldered all of the responsibility.

And what did it mean for him, that the only guilt Sam felt was _not_ feeling guilty about causing Mercedes to break things off with Shane? Really, how was that any different from how Finn had done him last year? Except, Sam had no loyalty to Shane; he barely knew the guy even though they'd been on the same football team and shared gym class together. He was amazed Shane hadn't tried to full-body tackle him upon sight after Mercedes had ended things with him, just looked at him sadly before ignoring him for the rest of class. But of course Mercedes would only allow stand-up men into her circle. Mercedes was class, a cut above the rest.

_A girl worth fighting for_, Sam sang in his head, and now had the urge to watch _Mulan_ with a bag of family-size Cool Ranch Doritos.

Sam whistled the tune as he entered the house, immediately pausing when he felt the morose mood. He went into the living area where Blaine and Kurt were cuddled on the couch and watching a funeral apparently.

"Did the president die?" Sam asked, his heart clenching. As unaware as he was about politics, he did like Obama. He thought his parents were the only white people in their entire voting district who'd voted for him back in Tennessee.

"Worse," Kurt sniffled into a tissue. "Whitney Houston."

"This is her funeral," Blaine said somberly, hugging his boyfriend's shoulders. "Well, coverage of it. It ended about fifteen minutes ago."

His heart clenched again. "Mercedes?"

"At home. We were on speaker the entire time though," Kurt replied, shaking the house phone for emphasis. "She knows she's not allowed around me looking a hot mess, although I'd promised her an exemption this time. But she wanted to be alone to grieve so…"

Sam pursed his lips. He knew all about grieving. That was all he'd been doing since she'd told him she couldn't be with him.

Actually, since he'd gotten into that U-Haul at the beginning of July.

"You should go over there and check on her," Kurt suggested; and by suggested, Sam knew it was actually a command. Nevertheless, Sam smirked a little and shook his head.

"I'm the last person she'd want to see."

"I'm sure you're the _only_ person she'd want to see," Kurt said, snuggling further into Blaine. "I was in glee when she sang to you, after you left. Tina and Quinn all but ushered her out of the choir room, she'd been crying so hard."

The petty part of him wanted to announce she'd brought it on herself, but his love for her wasn't petty or vindictive. One of the reasons he'd run out of the room was because he could never handle her tears, and knowing he didn't have the full right to comfort her had been too much of a revelation to bear. And yet, here was Kurt, telling him to go do that very thing.

"I smell like the auto shop," Sam muttered stupidly.

Kurt rolled his eyes and turned back to the television. "Then wash, put on that blue sweater that brings out your eyes—the one you wore to the soup kitchen—and go console our girl."

Sam let the comment about his eyes slide in favor of a more eyebrow-raising one. "_Our_?"

"She was mine first," Kurt said unapologetically. "And it's gonna take more than some guy with formerly lemon-juiced hair, pillow-soft lips, and the body of a Greek god to make me give her up."

Blaine and Sam looked at Kurt as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns, then at each other. They both began to say something to that but then just shut their mouths and shook their heads. They got the point; they didn't need to fuss about its delivery.

After a quick shower and, though reluctantly, following Kurt's orders about his attire, Sam was ready to go, but Kurt stopped him at the door.

"A tin of Carole's wings and a hug," Kurt said, giving Sam both. "Make sure Mercedes gets them."

This time Sam narrowed his eyes at him. "Kurt—"

"She's as stubborn as a mule," Kurt snapped, spinning Sam around and ushering him out the door. "She's been there for me more times than I can count; at least help me try to pull a little more even with her, okay?"

The door slammed behind Sam and he rolled his eyes but headed to his truck regardless. Gripping the steering wheel, Sam took three deep breaths, bracing himself for the myriad of possibilities that could go down once he showed up on the Joneses' front steps.

Only Mercedes' car was in the drive when he pulled up; but that didn't mean her parents weren't home, because her family actually used the garage to house cars instead of accumulated junk. His hands, covered in the fingerless gloves Mercedes had given him for Christmas, shook as one reached out to ring the doorbell and the other gripped the tin. His heartbeat accelerated when no one immediately answered, but then a magnetism got stronger within him as he sensed her on the other side of the door.

"Mercedes?" he called.

"Kurt sent you?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him I'm fine!"

"Can't; he told me to give you some things."

She groaned and he smiled crookedly, but the door opened moments later. His eyes widened slightly. She was not her usual put-together self. She wore sweats, socks with holes in them so her big toes, brightly painted red, stuck out in stark contrast to the black cotton. She had a multicolored scarf covering her head, too, and her face was free of makeup but streaked with tears that had fallen from her still-puffy eyes.

"Not one word," Mercedes mumbled, looking down at her big toes as she wiggled them, but then she stepped back so he could enter. He did, but didn't stop walking until he had wrapped her in his arms.

"This was one of the things Kurt told me to give you."

Mercedes snorted but wound her arms around his waist. "Give him this in return for me, then."

He knew the moment the hug stopped being for Kurt and started being for _her_, and her sniffles notwithstanding. It was the way her cheek found that familiar space right above his heart and her hands bunched into his sweater at the small of his back underneath the letterman. It was the way she made sure every soft bit of her found the grooves in the hardness of him. He yielded to her: his lips against her temple, his arms protective around her shoulders, his eyes closed so nothing else could distract him from _her_. He'd missed this more than her kisses, a fact that startled him, but not enough to jerk and break their hold.

"She's gone, Sam."

The words killed him, and mainly because there was nothing he could do to fix it and make it better for her. Instead, he just held her tighter and began humming "There Is a Fountain", for that was the first religious song to pop into his head. He was starting the second verse when she pulled back after a final nuzzle into his chest and took the tin from his hands.

"Ms. Carole's chicken wings," he said, taking off his gloves and hanging up his letterman on the coatrack by the door, stuffing the gloves in the jacket's pockets.

Mercedes visibly perked at that and smiled softly at him. "Would you like to share them with me?"

He leaned forward slightly, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets so he wouldn't touch her like they burned to do. "Are you asking me to stay?"

She shrugged, taking the lid off the tin. "I'd just popped in _The Bodyguard_. I know it's not your usual preference but…" she shrugged again, staring at the contents of the tin instead of him. "I'd already watched _Cinderella_ before the funeral…"

"It doesn't matter to me, so long as I can be here for you."

Mercedes tightened her grip on the tin and smiled even more softly, still not looking at him. "Let me warm this up."

He followed her into the kitchen, and the pair didn't speak as they gathered drinks and snacks for their impromptu movie date. As always, they communicated silently seamlessly, Mercedes having to catch herself from outright laughing several times at the looks he shot her. He'd clearly surprised her when he handed a damp paper towel to her, drifting a finger along each of his cheeks. She bit her bottom lip and looked away shyly, wiping her face quickly. If this were eight months ago, he would've done it himself, and then kissed her cheeks afterwards. But it was now, and she was finding herself so she could come back to him. And unlike last time, he wouldn't rush her.

Never again would he rush her if it made her doubt how incredibly wonderful she was.

They settled in for the movie, sitting next to each other save for a throw pillow they used as an armrest. Sam had to grin a little, for this was how they'd used to watch movies before the tenor of their relationship had become more romantic. The move gave him hope; there was a lot of couch in the Jones den. Sam remembered times when Santana would sit as far away from him on hers while they'd watched television at her house until she'd wanted to get frisky.

Sam had no shame watching Mercedes more than the film, although he did shift his focus toward the screen whenever Ms. Houston sang. She'd truly been blessed with a voice and beauty, and it was unfortunate her life had been full of such trials and tribulations. Ms. Carole loved watching the entertainment shows, so he'd learned a lot about the icon over the past week. And Mercedes had seemed fine at school, up until she'd decided to bludgeon his heart and say they couldn't be together, but Mercedes had a much better poker face than he'd ever had.

On the screen, Ms. Houston (he'd already forgotten the characters' names) and another black lady were now singing "Jesus Loves Me" and sounded very nice, though a quiet, yet sharp, inhalation from next to him punctuated the song. Mercedes's face was bent toward her raised knees as she hugged them to her chest, rocking slightly from this latest wave of her grief. Silently, Sam set aside his plate on the coffee table and the pillow separating them to his other side and brought Mercedes against his chest. She didn't resist, her arms wrapping about his waist as she fought to get herself under control.

However, that meant caressing him in order to do it, and all hopes Sam had had of beginning to pay attention evaporated. She'd used to do this back in June, snuggle into him and idly drift her fingers along whatever part of his body they happened to touch (though, unfortunately, it was never anywhere _naughty_), but the results were the same. He was a hot-blooded heterosexual teenage boy with the most beautiful girl in his arms. He couldn't help his body's reactions to her, and it hadn't been until their third week of officially dating (which was almost a full two months after they'd started hanging out) that she'd realized why a pillow would find its way into his lap. But he'd been starving for this for _eight months_, so his body trembled with the effort to keep things innocent. He flatly refused to take advantage of her grief, and didn't want his body's automatic responses to make her think otherwise.

It wasn't until the famous "I Will Always Love You" started playing that Sam could focus again, and his attention returned to the screen just in time to see the main characters rush into each other's arms and kiss. He blinked and unwittingly squeezed Mercedes' shoulders, to which she burrowed closer to him. His heart dropped when he realized they actually did part ways, with Ms. Houston's character singing on a stage while Kevin Costner's character stood sentry at a state dinner.

He glared at the screen. "They're supposed to be together."

Sam felt, more than heard, Mercedes sigh. "They couldn't be."

"But they love each other!"

"Sometimes that's not enough."

He looked at the top of her head incredulously. "It was enough for us once."

Her hand smoothed up his chest to settle over his heart, her tiny fingers quirking against its beat. Sam covered her hand with his, felt hers tremble. When they'd first gotten together, all they'd had was that. He'd had no home, barely a job, and little hope that the situation would change any time soon. And yet, she'd chosen to be with him. That _had_ to mean something!

"You love me," he said after a few beats of silence. "You said so in the same breath you said we couldn't be together."

"Kevin Costner loved Whitney Houston and those two could never get their act together," Mercedes mumbled.

"But that's just a movie—"

"_No_, Sam, in real life!" Mercedes corrected on a shuddering breath. "I saw that eulogy he gave. He could barely get through it! He sounded like Whitney Houston was the love of his life and they could never _be_ together—one or the other was always married. Like, my heart _broke_ for them! They were Frank Farmer and Rachel Marron in real life!"

"But we're not them," Sam said carefully. "We don't have to be."

"But what if we are? What if we're two people who love each other but can never get it right?"

"We _had_ it right," Sam said sharply, squeezing her hand gently. "We can get that back. I have faith in us, Mercedes."

She shook her head. "The first test, I failed, and I failed _spectacularly_. I can't hurt people again, Sam."

"You're human; that comes with the territory."

"Sam!"

"And sometimes you'll even do it intentionally," Sam said, wincing a little as he finally gave voice to his own part of this drama. He'd intentionally not given a damn how Shane would feel about any of this, too dogged in his quest to have Mercedes by his side and in his arms where she belonged.

"I don't like hurting people."

"And that's why you're a good person," Sam said, releasing her hand to grasp her chin and tilt it up so their eyes could meet. Hers had tears in them; and when one fell, his thumb tenderly brushed it away. He wanted to kiss her so badly and had to bite his lip to keep himself in check. Her eyes fell to his mouth, and his resolve weakened exponentially each second she stared.

"But what about what I did to you?" she asked, smoothing her hand down his chest again, thankfully averting her eyes. "I've hurt you and turned you into a cheater. I compromised you, Sam. Led you and Shane on. How could you still want to be with me after that?"

Sam shook his head. "You were always mine; Shane was a detour—"

"Sam!" She goggled at him. "You broke up with Quinn over cheating and were even hurt when Santana cheated with Karofsky—as fake as that was. How can you be so callous about Shane when you _were_ a Shane just last year? Twice!"

"I have some sympathy, but it is what it is," Sam said with a lazy shrug. "You're mine and I'm yours, and if that meant kissing you to get you to realize that, then so be it. You're loyal, Mercedes, and full of integrity. I had to take drastic measures so you could see the truth of the matter. You couldn't love Shane like a wife should love a husband because I'd already filled in that space. You certainly have filled it for me."

Mercedes sucked her teeth. "All this marriage on the brain…"

"I was talking marriage before Finn ever put that rock on Rachel's finger and you know it." His thumb brushed against her lips. "It didn't freak you out, either."

"Yeah, it did," she replied.

"Not enough to tell me to shut up about it."

"That's why it freaked me out."

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Sam smiled, moving his thumb from her lips to her button nose, then her cheeks. "We're not gonna be them. We're gonna be us. _Together_. Whenever you're ready."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't wait for me."

Sam shrugged. There were many things he shouldn't do, but sometimes doing the "shouldn'ts" were what got people what they wanted. And Sam wanted Mercedes to be an Evans someday, and _only_ Mercedes.

"I didn't wait for you."

He held her closer. "Mercedes—"

Her forehead found the crook of his neck. "I lied to myself. You saw right through it when you came back. But I've lied so much, being scared of just how much you mean to me. I didn't want to be like those girls, whose lives revolved around some boy. I _had_ to move on, had to bury you deep so I could. It would've worked if you'd never come back."

"But I told you I was."

"Sammy. We're teenagers. Teenagers make declarations all the time. _You_ made a declaration to Quinn and gave her a ring to boot!"

Sam sighed but cupped Mercedes' cheek and peered into her eyes. "Yeah, I did give her a ring—a _promise_ ring—but I gave you my heart. And I don't want it back."

Mercedes stared at him for a moment and her fingers tangled with his on her cheek. "And my heart?"

"I returned it because you asked me to when I left," Sam said. "But I wrote my name all over it in permanent marker, and then I branded it too."

Mercedes rolled her eyes but giggled into his palm, and Sam smiled. "I guess you did."

"I'm not apologizin'."

She shook her head and regarded him tenderly. "I'm not asking you to."

The title page of the DVD repeated several times while they just sat together. He felt far more settled and hopeful than he had on Valentine's Day, that they getting back together was merely a _when_, not an _if_. Yes, he was young and had a lot of life to live, God willing; and he understood this was the time to figure things out and explore—but what was there to explore when one already found what one was looking for, even if one hadn't realized he'd been searching in the first place? He'd had to grow up very quickly over these past few months, and he wasn't going to dick around with girls who weren't Mercedes Jones. He'd found his partner, his mate, and wasn't afraid of the discovery. Losing his home had made him appreciate and hold tight to the things and people who truly matter. Love mattered. Mercedes mattered; and part of growing up reaffirming his faith meant realizing everything happened on no other schedule but God's.

"Where's Mom and Pop Jones?"

"Out of town for President's Day weekend. Mom has an event-planning conference and Dad went with her."

"And you were just gonna spend the long weekend alone?"

By this point, Mercedes was reclining against his side and playing with his fingers. She shrugged against him. "No, Troubletones retreat tomorrow here."

"Can I stick around for that?" Mercedes elbowed him lightly in the side and he huffed out a laugh. "I mean, I can do a workshop on body rolling…"

"Boy, between me, Brittany, and Santana, I do believe we have that down," she said, looking over her shoulder at him with a smirk.

"_Amen_," he rumbled against her temple.

"_Praise_," she returned, and laughed as she snuggled into him. "And my dad said he was glad to see you'd practiced while you'd been gone."

Sam laughed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he felt a blush creep up his face. Pop Jones had been the one to teach him how to body roll while they'd been playing "Just Dance" on Wii. The Jones women had gone wild over the lesson, leading to a very TMI moment when Mom Jones had led Pop Jones by his belt loop out of the den and up the stairs.

He'd liked Mercedes parents weren't shy about showing their love for each other; it reminded him of his own folks.

"Well, I knew that it would be a secret weapon for Sectionals."

"Yeah, to torpedo my group!"

"Nah, Michael Jackson pretty much trumps anything except maybe the Beatles."

"Maybe."

"Yep."

"Do you think we'll win Regionals?"

"Between my body rolls and your Troubletones; of course we'll win," Sam said, and she beamed at him, making him smile in return.

"Do you want to stay for dinner? Mom has some roast beef in the fridge with some cabbage, rice, and cornbread."

Sam's stomach growled, making Mercedes laugh so hard she snorted.

They ate at the breakfast bar and sang their songs for Regionals in between bites. It turned into an impromptu rehearsal once Kurt called and Mercedes put him and Blaine on speaker, Kurt taking the soprano while Mercedes was on alto, Blaine on tenor, and Sam holding down the baritone/bass. Every now and again Mercedes would do her signature runs and Sam would watch her in awe, knowing as much as Rachel crowed about being a star one day, the world would actually be Mercedes' _Cheers_—everyone would know her name.

"I was worried about you, 'Cedes," Kurt said after they finished singing.

"So worried you sent Sam over?"

"Sam may have alternative methods of cheering you up that aren't part of _my_ particular expertise—"

"_Really_, Kurt?" Blaine asked.

"I'm just saying…"

Mercedes had to pat her chest because of her drink going down the wrong pipe. His own face ablaze, Sam pat her back and squeezed her shoulders as she gathered her snatched breath.

"Anyway, text when you're on your way home, Sam, which I hope is tomorrow—"

"Later, you guys," Blaine interrupted, and ended the call. By this point, Mercedes was hunched over the bar, but the sound of a snort let Sam know she was all right. She stole a look at Sam, and then they both burst into laughter.

As tempting as it was to stay, Sam knew it was best if he left. This visit had gone much better than he'd anticipated, and he wasn't going to take undue advantage of it. She deserved more than that; their relationship was worth more than that.

"I'm gonna go," he said, smoothing his hands along his jean-clad thighs.

"You want to take some home? Cornbread?"

Sam shook his head. "Finn has a tendency to eat in the middle of the night. It won't make it to day."

"Okay," Mercedes said, hopping off the stool and grabbing their plates as she walked around the bar to the sink. She washed the dishes while he dried, and soon the tin in which he'd brought the wings was clean and ready for its return trip to the Hudson-Hummels. Mercedes walked him to the door and hugged him around the waist in goodbye.

"Thank you so much, Sam," she whispered, "for everything."

"Aw, c'mon, none of that," Sam replied, squeezing her to him. "Not like it was some great big sacrifice. I love you. This is what you do for someone you love."

Mercedes pulled back but kept her arms around him. "I get it. If you called me, I'd come, even though I didn't exactly call you this time."

"I'd expected this to be weird," Sam admitted. "I actually thought you'd slam the door in my face or something."

"Why would I do that? I'm the one who hurt you!"

"Actually, it was more disappointment than hurt. I so thought we'd get back together after everything. I rushed it; but love is patient, right?"

She smiled slowly. "I love you."

He grinned in return and, gathering his gumption, pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "I'm serious about the body roll workshop, though," he whispered against her skin and part of the scarf she wore. "I'll be _right_ over should you require my services."

"And probably with tagalong Finn, too, huh?"

"Lord knows he needs more lessons!"

Mercedes cackled at that, cupping his face in her hands. Her thumbs drifted along his cheekbones before pulling his head down to kiss his left cheek.

"Text _me_ when you get there," she said, smoothing her hands along his shoulders as he zipped up his letterman and put on his gloves.

"Yes, ma'am," he promised, his voice pitched low, unable to help teasing her a little. Her adorable nose scrunched up from the force of her blush and she bodily turned him around and guided him out the door.

Sam sang "We Found Love" at the top of his lungs for the entire drive.


	11. Hand Made Rosary

**Title:** Hand Made Rosary  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E14.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes wonders just how much tragedy they could take.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Really - don't read unless you've seen _Glee _S3E14 or don't mind being spoiled. Please forgive any lingering errors and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>Judy Fabray's hand was clammy, frigid, and bone-crushing. She murmured prayers frantically under her breath as she clutched the smaller, darker hand within hers. Mercedes had been surprised the woman had made such a beeline for her upon entering the waiting room, especially since it'd been Finn's mother who'd contacted her; but Mrs. Fabray had needed a rock, and Mercedes had had much practice imitating one for her friends and family.<p>

Quinn had already been in surgery when they'd all arrived, the nurse at the reception desk having taken pity on the mass of Quinn Fabray supporters who'd inundated her. She'd remembered them from the last time Quinn had been rushed in, her eyes lingering on an agitated Puck before bouncing to Mercedes and then the older blonde woman. She'd told Quinn's mother her daughter had been unconscious—it hadn't looked good on the scene—but she was alive. Only half of a relieved breath was released then; the other half would have to wait until Quinn was fully conscious again.

Everyone was dazed. This wasn't the tragic event everyone had been anticipating; and yet, everyone would prefer Rachel and Finn getting married to this—_this_, when Quinn was coming out of her storm, triumphant and in _such_ a good place. She was to be kicking ass and taking names at Yale. She was supposed to become an attorney or a renowned journalist like Lisa Ling and hold people accountable for the injustices of the world. She was supposed to become a mother again and raise more daughters to be as fantastic as their mother was. And now, they were all praying she'd just _open her eyes_.

Mrs. Fabray squeezed Mercedes' hand and Mercedes closed her other one atop it. As much as Mercedes wanted to say Quinn would be okay and she'd get through this, her throat tightened against the words. She was no psychic; she didn't know. All she had was faith; and yet, with the more time that passed without any word on Quinn's status, the more it diminished, ever so slightly.

"Judy?"

Both Mercedes and Mrs. Fabray looked up at a concerned Ms. Carole, whose hands were trembling just as much as her small smile. "I think a walk would do you good. Let me take you to get a coffee."

Mrs. Fabray rapidly shook her head and squeezed Mercedes' hand even tighter. "I have to stay here. If the doctor comes—"

"I'll text Carole," Papa Burt promised, waving his cell phone for emphasis. "A walk is good. The cafeteria isn't far, either."

"And the vending machine is even closer," Kurt said, Blaine rubbing his hand that was clutched between his own two. "Trust me—it'll do you some good while you wait." Papa Burt smiled a little and kissed the side of his son's head, Kurt grinning a little in return.

Mercedes was surprised when Mrs. Fabray looked at her as if waiting for her opinion on the matter, but she nodded her head encouragingly. "A walk is good. I have to go to the bathroom myself…"

Mrs. Fabray squeezed Mercedes' hand one last time before letting it go. Ms. Carole picked up right where Mercedes left off, and the two women started their trek out of the waiting room hand in hand.

Mercedes scanned their group. Tina rested her head on Mike's shoulder while his strong arm was wrapped around hers. Tina's face was red and splotchy from tears, and Mike clenched his jaw so tightly Mercedes thought it could shatter at any moment. Sugar was cuddled in Artie's lap sniffling while Artie stared into space, his hand smoothing up and down Sugar's thigh absently. It wasn't about copping a feel, Mercedes knew, but probably a subconscious gesture, hoping what had happened to him wouldn't happen to Quinn. Brittany and Santana were sitting on the floor next to a large potted plant, Santana hugging Brittany's waist with her face crumpled in Brittany's chest. Brittany murmured something Mercedes couldn't hear, but it seemed to help Santana, who would nod every now and again. Rory and Joe, who'd Sam had apparently called, were situated not too far from Brittany and Santana, not speaking but in deep reflection mode. Joe was barefoot, his toes wiggling as he rested his forehead atop his knees. Mercedes bet he was praying.

Finn and Puck were sitting together next to Blaine and Kurt, the former two boys holding hands as they stared at the stack of magazines. Every few moments, Puck would bounce their hands together and Finn would nod, but Puck's eyes never left that magazine stack. On the other side of Finn was Rachel, Dad Hiram massaging her shoulders as he stood behind her while Papa Leroy sat beside her and sang a lullaby into her temple. Sometimes, Rachel would squeeze the arm she'd threaded through Finn's, and that would be the only time Finn would tear his eyes from the magazines. He'd kiss the top of her head to reassure her he was there, and then his staring match would resume all over again.

Mercedes stood, her bridesmaid dress starting to feel constricting, but no way was she going home. In fact, she should probably call her parents and tell them about Quinn, now that she had a moment.

"Hey, Mercedes?"

Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury were standing on the opposite wall near the double doors that led to another corridor. Mercedes thought Miss Pillsbury resembled a pretty tomato, so red she was, while Mr. Schue reminded her of Archibald Asparagus from _VeggieTales_, but without the monocle, so dour was his expression. But he'd never stopped running a comforting hand up and down Miss Pillsbury's back as they held each other in comfort.

"Yes?" Mercedes asked, approaching them.

"Have you seen Sam? He left to go to the bathroom like ten minutes ago…"

Mercedes blinked at him. "You want me to look for him in the men's bathroom?"

Mr. Schue grinned slightly. "No, I mean—just, you look like you're about to go someplace—"

"I get it," Mercedes said, flashing tiny smile. "I was going to call my parents real quick; but if I see him, I'll text Kurt or someone."

"Thanks," Mr. Schue said, squeezing Miss Pillsbury's shoulder for a second before starting his back sweeps again.

The first stop Mercedes made really was to the women's bathroom, using the privacy of the stall to take several deep breaths after using the facilities. Intellectually, Mercedes knew none of this had truly caught up to her yet. She was operating on autopilot, keeping strong while others had their passing moments of grief. Maybe it was because she was fresh off mourning Whitney Houston's death and still reeling from Dave Karofsky's attempted suicide that she hadn't properly restocked her emotional stores. Or maybe she was just stubborn enough to think everything would work out, because she had a feeling—a _conviction_—God wasn't ready to call Quinn Fabray home yet.

Then again, Quinn could be contrary just enough to let her head peek through the door of that celestial call.

"Stank heffa," Mercedes said on a quiet, shuddering breath, and then chuckled at herself. Quinn would be fine. _She would be fine_. She had to be.

Feeling newly resolved, Mercedes washed her hands and left the bathroom; but instead of returning to the waiting area, she decided to find the chapel. She didn't think it would hurt to pray on it even more and at least it wouldn't potentially make others feel uncomfortable about it. On the way there, she called her mother, sucking her teeth when it went to voicemail, but she just asked her mother to call her back upon receiving the message. Mrs. Jones deserved more than a recording about what had happened to Quinn.

Mercedes didn't know why she was surprised to see a familiar form kneeling at the altar in the chapel, but it brought her up short at the door. They were the only two in there, but she felt as if she were intruding on a moment. By all accounts she should leave; she knew where Sam was now, and she could go back and report to Mr. Schue without bothering anyone. But she couldn't leave without knowing he was okay for _herself_. It was the least she could do after he'd come over and comforted her, after all.

The carpeted floor masked her footfalls, but that didn't stop his back from tensing or his head from turning over his shoulder to glance in her direction. She paused when their eyes locked. His were dull, missing the spark that was usually so constant in them even as they widened at the sight of her, and it made her heart slam in her chest as she rushed forward.

"Sam—?"

"Is she awake? Did the doctors—?" He cut himself off and scrambled to his feet to meet her halfway in the short aisle. Mercedes had to lean back to continue looking at him, just remembering how much taller he was compared to her. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks as worried eyes darted about her face, and she placed a friendly, yet comforting hand to his elbow.

"She was still in surgery when I left." He nodded, his head sagging, and Mercedes squeezed his elbow. "Mr. Schue was worried about you."

"About _me_?" he asked derisively.

"You'd been 'in the bathroom' a while now," Mercedes said, making air quotes with her free hand.

Sam nodded. "I needed to pray. I needed to pray for Quinn. I needed to feel like I was doing something to help…"

She rubbed his arm soothingly and nodded with understanding. "Sam—"

"Pray with me, Mercedes?" he asked, finally lifting his eyes to look at her again. "It couldn't hurt, right? The more people who pray for her the better her chances?"

She nodded, her heart full to bursting for the young man before her. "Joe's praying too."

"Good. I like Joe," he said absently, then turned around to head back to the altar, Mercedes following. She placed her cell phone atop the suit jacket Sam had draped along the seat of a chair, then joined him at the altar. Ever the gentleman, Sam offered his hand to help her kneel and she accepted it, squeezing it once she made it gently to the ground. They grinned slightly at each other when he returned the comforting squeeze, and Mercedes watched him pick up his rosary and begin to pray again.

They were silent for a good while, the deep hum of Sam's voice lulling Mercedes into her own thoughts and prayers; but her eyes snapped open when she heard a loud sniffle, and she saw his shoulders begin to shake violently.

"Sam…" She clenched her hands, unsure if he'd welcome her touch since he was still mumbling into his rosary, but her heart couldn't take his tears. She scooted closer and placed a tender hand on his shoulder, and he folded over as if he'd been punched in the gut.

Or the heart.

Mercedes caught him before he could reach the ground, so he collapsed into her instead. Every sob cracked her soul, but she didn't silence him or stop him. Sam wasn't prone to tears, very good at rolling with the punches life gave him until there was one punch too many. She'd given him a devastating blow mere days ago; and now here was another one, just as devastating, and probably more irrevocable than Mercedes was still willing to admit.

She adjusted them so she sat on the altar and he cried into her stomach, his head resting in her lap. He clutched her waist and Mercedes hummed "I Love the Lord" by Whitney Houston, a song that had been on loop for herself the past few days. She smoothed down his hair and rocked them both; and after humming the chorus a few times, Sam finally quieted, adjusting so he lay on his back. Mercedes brushed away lingering tears and cupped his cheek, smiling a little when he held her hand to his face.

"She'll be fine," Mercedes predicted boldly.

Sam nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "This is fuckin' unfair."

Mercedes didn't bother chastising him, for she agreed.

"Quinn was _just_ getting settled! Everything she'd ever wanted she was just about to get—and now this? Like—what lesson is she supposed to learn from this? _We're_ supposed to learn from this? What's the point of suffering if there's no damn payoff at the end? _Dammit_! I just—" He clenched his eyes and his jaw, shaking his head against his anger.

"I don't know, Sammy. I don't know," she whispered.

"But she can't die, Mercedes," Sam insisted, opening his eyes to stare at her. They were bloodshot, but they pierced right to the essence of her. "She _cannot_ die. She can't. I won't be able to handle it. I've lost too much already—I can't—" He shook his head and inhaled a shuddering breath, mucus getting clogged in his nasal passages. Mercedes wished she had a tissue or something to help him, but he seemed to be okay.

"All that you've lost, you've regained," Mercedes reminded him gently. "You got a home back; you have your friends back…" She brushed the backs of her fingers against his damp cheeks. "Quinn's not going anywhere. I'd feel hollow if I thought so; instead, I feel hopeful. I'm clinging to that feeling like a lifeline, Sammy."

"Can you cling extra hard for me?" he asked.

"Oh, boo, I got you," Mercedes promised, giving him a tiny grin. "You know I got you."

He flashed a brief smile then sat up on his own power. They remained sitting there, Sam looking at his clasped hands hanging between his thighs while Mercedes looked at him, caressing the back of his head to soothe.

"I love her. I love Quinn. I didn't realize how much I loved her until now. Isn't that awful?"

Mercedes shook her head. "No. Like Joni Mitchell said—'don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.'"

"But she's not gone," Sam said, peering at her. "She's still here. I feel it."

"Me too," Mercedes said, now stroking the upper curve of his ear as her caresses shifted. "We have to have faith, Sammy. Faith."

He stared at her intently once more, then he pressed his forehead against hers and breathed deeply. "Just when I think I'm fresh out, something happens to renew it."

"I'd hum George Michael, but I think the setting's inappropriate," Mercedes teased.

Sam laughed at that, a genuine one, and it made her giggle.

"Are you ready to go back, boo?" Mercedes asked, and he nodded.

They returned to the waiting room, Mercedes hugging his right arm with her left while Sam carried his suit in his free arm. Mercedes insisted on making a detour in the women's bathroom, pulling a reluctant Sam in with her, so she could clean him up a little with a damp towel. It wasn't until the third pass along his cheeks and eyes she realized he could've done this himself, but he'd appeared amused yet pleased at her automatic willingness to take care of him.

"Shut up," Mercedes had mumbled, throwing away the damp paper towel while avoiding his eyes.

"Not a word, _Mizz_ Jones," he'd promised with a tender grin, holding out his arm for her to hug again.

When they'd finally returned, the doctor was speaking to Mrs. Fabray with Ms. Carole standing next to her to comfort. Everyone else watched the trio—on the edge of seats if sitting and on balls of feet if standing. Mercedes and Sam hung on the peripheral, leaning into each other for support and whispering one last prayer.

Mercedes then started forward but Sam tensed and planted his feet, shaking his head at her even while he continued staring at Mrs. Fabray. Nodding back, Mercedes returned to his side and squeezed the arm she hugged in solidarity. Suddenly, Mrs. Fabray buckled but remained standing courtesy of Ms. Carole, and Mercedes' heart dropped to her feet.

"No…" Sam whispered, and Mercedes pressed her forehead into his bicep.

"Faith, boo, faith," she whispered, and kept repeating it like a mantra into his arm. Sam kissed the top of her head in reply.

The doctor stepped before them, her face and tone somber as she gave them the update. Mercedes chose to register keywords—"medically induced coma"; "back swelling"; "paralysis"; "day by day". She exhaled slowly and completely, her ears cringing at the distraught cries from the others in the group. Mercedes almost stumbled when Sam pulled his arm from her hold and felt her heart drop again, but it rebounded back into her chest when he hugged her fully to him, his grip almost desperate around her shoulders.

"How could this happen?" Finn wailed, bumbling about the waiting area with his hands in his hair. His face was scrunched up as if he were fighting back his tears. "This wasn't supposed to happen! Me and Rachel were supposed to get _married_ today—not hear this kind of news about our friend! Why _Quinn_? After everything she's been through—why _her_?"

"Finn—"

"No, Mom, _no_," Finn interrupted, holding out a visibly shaky hand to Ms. Carole. "This was supposed to be happy day when me and Rachel got hitched and everyone was gonna be happy for us; now we're here listening to some lady tell us Quinn's paralyzed! How is that fair? She didn't deserve this! God—this is gonna _kill_ her—!"

"Shut the _hell_ _up_, Finn!" Mercedes snapped, drawing shocked eyes to her. She started approaching him, but Sam caught her hand at the last minute and didn't allow any more progress, refusing to let her go. "My girl's strong; my girl's _resilient_, and she'll wake up from that coma and _adjust_, because that's what Quinn Fabray _does_! And so what if she's paralyzed? Excuse the hell outta me if I'd rather her in a _chair_ than in a _casket_!"

It wasn't until she inhaled a rough breath that Mercedes realized she was crying. A solid weight materialized behind her and strong arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders. She finally hung her head and gave into her tears—to her relief that Quinn would be okay; that while she was currently paralyzed, there was hope it wasn't permanent; to her anger that the only way they'd avoided the Finchel train wreck was for Quinn to get into a car wreck and how was _that_ fair?; to her fear that she'd been way too fucking close from losing the sister she'd just regained over the past few weeks…to her realization of just how fleeting and precious life truly was.

Somehow, Mercedes made it to a seat, Sam's strong arm still supporting her and his deep voice murmuring comfort against her temple. Soon, she felt a damp towel on her own face, and she blinked to see Sam carefully wiping it along her cheek.

"Sammy?"

"_Shh_, my turn," he whispered, throwing her a slight, lopsided grin before focusing on his task once more. Her phone buzzed in her hand, making both her and Sam jump, and she answered it when she realized it was her mother.

She blew out a bracing breath before answering. "Hey, Mommy, I'm at the hospit—_no_, not for that, I'm fine but…Quinn…she was in a bad accident and she needs you, Mommy. Mrs. Fabray needs you. _I_ need you. Tell Daddy? Yeah, we're all here. Yeah, Sam's right here with me—"

Mercedes snickered and handed the phone to Sam. "Mom wants to talk to you."

Their conversation was brief, full of mostly Sam saying yes and no, ma'am in intervals. Then Sam called for Puck, who looked like he'd rather continue to stare at magazines, but he got moving when Sam told him it was Mrs. Jones. It didn't surprise Mercedes when he walked off with her phone. She just hoped it didn't end up shattered against a wall somewhere from the grief he still hadn't allowed himself to feel.

"She's coming," Sam told Mercedes, rubbing her bare arm. "She was driving as she spoke to me."

Luckily, her mother's MKX had a speakerphone system, so the brief surge of panic that'd flooded Mercedes receded quickly.

"Are you gonna call your parents?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not until later." He then looked at her. "Would you be there with me when I do, though? I don't know if I'll make it through that conversation alone."

Mercedes nodded emphatically, cupping his cheek. "Whatever you need me to do, boo."

He closed his eyes and pressed a long, firm kiss to the heel of her hand. He then pulled her hand from his face and cradled it in both of his while resting all of them in her lap. He dropped his forehead to her temple again and began praying once more, her hand the rosary now. And though she wasn't Catholic, Mercedes found herself reciting the prayers with him.

They were Quinn's favorites.


	12. Assessment Period

**Title:** Assessment Period  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E18.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sam realizes sometimes a step back is what you need to move forward.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> It's been two months and some change since I've updated. Whoops. These past few episodes on _Glee_ had left me feeling kind of "meh", but I'd gotten several prompts/requests on Tumblr to, erm "correct" what happened in 03x18; so well, I did my best. Please forgive any lingering errors and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>If Sam had known putting up that video and going in for that kiss would've led to dead air between him and Mercedes, he would've kept himself in check. But she'd been so soft and dewy watching herself perform, finally awed with herself the way he'd been captivated by her since jump, that he wouldn't be denied any longer. She'd even let him nip her bottom lip, for Christ's sake! He'd thought they were all but official again.<p>

But then, Mercedes barely spoke to him or anyone else the next days after that, rarely looking at him or Kurt and flashing fake smiles to Tina who'd looked at her askance but played along until Mercedes was ready to break.

"I didn't mean anything by it, you know."

Mercedes shrugged, pulling out her change bag from her locker after shoving in some books she didn't need for the rest of the day. Things had gotten particularly tense between them during glee that afternoon, with her taking him to the carpet over her idol. Sam _had_ known better, admittedly, especially after having come over to console her on the day of Ms. Houston's funeral; but he'd honestly been shocked Mr. Schuester had even cared enough about the late songstress to dedicate a week of glee to her.

"I didn't hear you having any problems when we had Michael Jackson week, and people insist he was a pedo."

Sam bristled at that and adjusted his backpack on his shoulders. "Fair enough, even though I don't think he was."

Mercedes finally looked at him as she closed her locker. "Neither do I; but the point is, he wasn't perfect and neither was Whitney. Think of all the famous artists you know—how many of them were flawless? None, because all of them were human, is all I'm sayin'."

She walked off and Sam stood there for a moment, watching her. She was very rude in that outfit, which wasn't anything really special with blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a vest, but _dat ass_—

"Trouble in paradise?"

Sam snatched his eyes away from the Chocolate Thunder sauntering away from him and eyed Kurt with a frustrated sigh.

"It hasn't been paradise since June, I'm afraid," Sam mumbled, going in the opposite direction to his own locker. "Where's Blaine?"

Kurt pulled a face that would've had Sam asking what was wrong if Kurt hadn't abruptly smoothed it away and clapped an arm around his shoulders. "I told you the kiss was a bit much," Kurt said out the corner of his mouth.

Sam sighed again, visibly, his shoulders rising and sagging, and he paused in front of his locker with a glare. "I thought _for sure_ we would've been on again after that kiss—but she needs _more_ _time_?"

Kurt leaned his back against the locker beside his and shrugged himself. "She's unsure."

"I don't know how else to make her sure I love her," Sam muttered, switching out books between his backpack and his locker.

"That's not the problem," Kurt said.

"Then what is?"

"Last year, you left; this year, she's leaving. She knows what she wants but she doesn't know how to get it—"

"All she has to do is say yes to _me_—"

"At your expense?" Kurt asked.

Sam shook his head. "That doesn't make sense, Kurt."

Kurt looked down each end of the hall before bending his head closer to Sam's. "You repeat this to Finn and I'll never make you another chocolate soufflé again, but…Mercedes isn't Rachel, and she's not about to turn you into a Finn. She wants you to pursue your dreams independently of her, and she doesn't think you'd do that if she gives in to the obvious love you two have for each other."

Sam scoffed at that, closing his locker. "Now why—?"

"Think about the reason why you're here in Lima and not in Kentucky with your family, Sam," Kurt said, squeezing the blond's shoulder before going off in his own direction.

The news only got worse when Tina gave him more information later at lunch.

"Her dad found that YouTube video you posted up," she whispered conspiratorially while Santana and Sugar kept Mercedes' attention on the other side of the table. "And the others…Daddy Jones wasn't thrilled about that—pretty much gave her an ultimatum: college or nothing." Tina looked even more sympathetic. "And he said some not-nice things about you, and threw Shane in her face too. Sorry, Sam."

Sam's heart had seized up hearing that; and as much as he wanted to console Mercedes, he knew she wouldn't be ready for that yet. So he took the distance, the snappy comments (although in hindsight, he should've known Whitney Houston would probably always be a sore, yet sacred spot with her), and buried his frustration at the slight regression of their relationship in favor of helping out his bros get through their own crises.

Sam would play Rock Band with Finn every night to wash out the constant Broadway he'd been subjected to between his fiancée and his brother; he'd pray with Joe and help him find new ways to suppress those "in his pants" feelings he'd get whenever he'd think of Quinn, knowing Joe's struggle with this particular phenomenon was delayed because he'd never had that temptation before.

"At the very least, don't be all up on her when you pop one unless, you know, you're makin' out or something," Sam had counseled after one God Squad meeting. Mercedes had wheeled out Quinn as they'd talked about prom, Mercedes arching a brow at both the boys before crossing the threshold. She'd texted Sam (a rare communication during the dead-air days) about talking to Joe again—White Chocolate to Teen Jesus.

"Have you ever…?" Joe had asked.

"Yeah—with Quinn, too, actually; it was frustrating, I even imagined Coach Beiste to avoid it—but don't do that, dude. It's wrong and it really hurts her feelings," Sam had said seriously.

"No way! I mean, not that I'd ever think of a teacher like that—"

"You should've been here for Ms. Holliday…" Sam said with a smirk. Joe's eyes widened with such innocent wonder Sam almost laughed in his face.

To say the development between Joe and Quinn had surprised him would have been an understatement, but Sam wasn't a stranger to the side-glances Quinn would cast that hid her interest. There was a time he'd lived for those glances; and now to see Joe drinking them in like man who'd only known thirst made Sam chuckle internally—never mind that very _interesting_ choice of duet they'd performed the other day in glee.

"I'm trying to figure out how I feel about that," Sam said as he watched Joe wheel Quinn out of the classroom. He'd texted _Joe_ for a favor, which he happily did with Quinn a willing accomplice.

"Jealous?" Mercedes trilled even as she eyed the other pair suspiciously as it left.

Sam scoffed. "Only if he were tryin' to push up on you. I just—he's a sophomore. Quinn's a senior and going to Yale. Why bother?"

Mercedes shrugged. "Maybe she wants to feel wanted? Her life has been endless upheaval since sophomore year, after all; Joe's a fresh, new element that is actually quite peaceful. What's wrong with some smooches until graduation?"

"Exactly, Mercedes, what _is_ wrong with that?"

Mercedes eyed him, began to speak, then clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. Sam smirked a little at her.

"That's what I thought—"

"Unless you've been lying to me, you're not just interested in 'until graduation'," Mercedes said, arching an eyebrow at him and placing a hand on her ample hip. "You want those smooches for a little longer." Her eyebrow rose even higher. "Actually, you want more than smooches…"

"Damn right," Sam said, approaching her carefully. Mercedes didn't step back, but he did notice her tense slightly. Undeterred, Sam slipped a ginger hand onto her waist through the hole her arm created and brought her flush against him. Mercedes' eyes closed and she breathed out slowly.

"So do you," he challenged.

She opened her eyes but averted her face. "Sam—"

"_I've got the stuff that you want/I've got the thing that you need_—"

Mercedes burst out laughing, her small hand unable to mask her eyes smile or mirthful eyes. Sam grinned and body rolled downward until their faces were level.

"_I've got more than enough to make you drop to your knees_—"

"Nasty—!"

"'_Cause I'm the king of the night! King of the night! Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Oh, _yyyeeaaaahhh!_"_

Sam then whirled around and vocalized the guitar break for "Queen of the Night" (mentally thanking Kurt for playing _The Bodyguard_ soundtrack nonstop a few days before), complete with miming the performance and head banging. Mercedes enthusiastically cheered him on and started singing with him until eventually taking over the lead herself with Sam more than happy to provide the backing vocals. She looked so entrancing caught up in the moment that he just stopped and watched her. Sam honestly didn't know what her father's issue was; Mercedes Jones with her God-given talent was destined for greatness.

She stopped singing on a giggle and Sam opened up his arms to her. Mercedes cut her eyes to the ceiling, but she granted him the hug he sought. They said nothing during the embrace or afterward, but Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and felt the most settled in days because of it.

But it seemed everything came to a head this week, the week of Rachel and Kurt's NYADA auditions. He'd had sympathy anxiety from living with both Kurt and Finn but didn't know how to channel it. Finn was Rachel's support and Blaine was Kurt's; however, since Puck was in danger of not graduating high school, Sam threw his support behind that. He was getting a little weary of "Music of the Night", anyway, so he'd spend much of his time helping Puck study at his place when he could or hang out with Mike since Tina was currently helping Kurt with his audition.

"After Rachel, she knows the most about Broadway," Mike said with a shrug. They were going over choreography from booty camp in his living room.

"Really?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Mike said. "She knows 'cool' Broadway, too, like _Book of Mormon_ and _Avenue Q_. Mercedes also introduced me to _Fela!_ It'd be awesome if we could do some of _that_ in glee…" He brightened. "But the girls have an extra assignment from Coach Sylvester—they're doing _Chicago_ and I'm helping out. It's gonna be hot…"

Sam felt some kind of way that they'd asked _Rory_ for assistance before him; but it turned out he wouldn't have been able to anyway because Puck had contracted him for a pool job and he really needed the money. He'd asked Lauren to record it for him, however.

It wasn't fair Mercedes could look so damn sexy completely covered like that.

"Hey, Mike," Joe asked, after they'd all watched the video for the fifth time. All the guys sans Kurt (who was still rehearsing for his audition) were in the weight room after booty camp, though not lifting weights at all. "Why are they doing a lesson on domestic violence?"

"Santana made a crack at Beiste and the girls laughed."

"Wait, _all_ of them?" Sam asked.

Mike frowned, queuing the video back to the beginning. "Apparently. I'm surprised, actually. Tina and Mercedes don't seem the type."

"Yeah, well, Santana's poisonous," Finn muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "They probably laughed for self-preservation."

"Pft," Artie scoffed. "'Cedes ain't afraid of Santana!"

"I am, though," Rory said with a shudder, and Finn nodded emphatically.

"Yo, remember that time they fought over me?" Puck asked, smirking and slapping Artie's shoulder lightly with the back of his hand.

Everyone groaned and rolled his eyes.

"What kind of crack?" Blaine asked, getting the conversation back on topic.

Mike shrugged. "I dunno; didn't ask."

After that, it was a whirlwind—the NYADA auditions, Puck's father coming back and he needing to pass a test in order to graduate—Sam felt emotionally exhausted by the end of everything. Kurt's epic audition was the only silver lining, for Rachel and Puck both choked during their respective tests. He felt bad for both of them, though admittedly worse for Puck because this would be the second time he'd be held back. Sam knew the feeling well.

"It's not the end of the world, you know," Sam said, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I've got another year left—we could get a pad to ourselves, help each other study, and you can shore up your pool business so that when you move to California, you'll have more than $500 in seed money!"

Puck slapped Sam's knee but said nothing. The rest of the guys also said encouraging words as they waited for the start of booty camp. Finn had already told them not to expect Rachel, who was still in mourning (Kurt was on his consolation shift with her), and Quinn had a checkup that afternoon.

Sam almost groaned when his swim coach appeared, looking at them with a bored expression as she clapped her hands to get their attention. Sam immediately stood, ignored the amused glances of his friends, until Coach Roz glared at them all and they followed Sam's lead.

"Now, you may wonder why I am here. Frankly, so am I, because I don't even like your little club. But, Coach Sue asked me to do a favor and so here I am, because Lord knows that demon spawn she's incubating doesn't need any extra help in getting more demonic. So! Girls ain't comin' today, which should work in everyone's favor, so you won't be distracted by how sweet they smell and how they jiggle—I put a stop to that real quick on my team, didn't I, Evans?"

His ears blazed and he coughed. "Yes, ma'am."

Blaine raised his hand. "I'm gay."

"And? Y'all know y'all look. I'm straight as a line but that don't mean I don't check out folk who I ain't checkin' for and vice versa!"

Sam wondered if that didn't make much sense to anyone else.

"_Anyway_—show me those steps y'all are working on. Bet they as beige as your coach, bless his heart…"

For the first time in weeks, the boys limped out of booty camp, with Sam lean-pushing Artie because his arms were so exhausted. They'd barely made it to the choir room when they saw the girls plus Coach Beiste and Coach Sylvester doing some karate moves with very attractive, very lean, yet muscular dudes.

"Aw hell naw!" Artie said, finding enough energy to sit up. "What the hell?"

The session seemed to be ending, because they all started stretching.

"Okay, ladies; remember next week we go to our usual time of Wednesdays instead of today; I was booked but Sue here really wanted us to get one out of the way, okay?" the tall, modelesque Asian facilitator said. All the girls looked at him with stars in their eyes—including Santana—and the facilitator's assistants gave each girl a high-five, one of them lingering at Mercedes and both of them laughing heartily.

Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Too bad age of consent in Ohio is 16, huh?" Puck said a little breathlessly, eyeing Sam slightly.

"Ain't no way," Sam muttered, finding some energy in the tank to push Artie inside upright instead of sagging over the back of his friend's chair.

Coach Sylvester grinned at the new arrivals. "Oh, great! I was just telling Tommy here that I think it would be a good idea if the gentlemen came to the self-defense sessions too. Can't practice fighting off potential abusers without the potential abusers in the room—then again, maybe that's a bad idea; wouldn't want you boys to know how these girls here will defend themselves if you all of a sudden 'have a bad day'—"

All the guys looked at Coach Sylvester blankly.

"Why do the girls need self-defense classes?" Finn finally asked.

"Because we live in a world full of male privilege and misogyny, that's why, Jolly White Giant," Coach Sylvester said, "and none of these girls should ever have a bruise on their body because they didn't do what you wanted them to do when you wanted them to do it. Now, I'm sure you all are recoiling at the idea you'd ever hurt one of these girls; but if you knew how many bruises I had to pretend I didn't see on my Cheerios from guys who were 'upstanding citizens' of this community, you'd understand why I think you all are, at the heart, full of crap!"

By this time, Coach Sylvester was walking in front of them as if she were a drill sergeant and they were recruits wet behind the ears. They all stood at attention in deference as well, Sam swallowing thickly and gripping the handles of Artie's wheelchair so hard he'd thought he could actually break them.

"And those are just the bruises I can see, _gentlemen,_" Coach Sylvester said, snarling the last word as she continued to pace in front of them. "This doesn't cover the emotional abuse that I see day in and day out—the teasing, the catcalling, the locker room talk that is just chockfull of disrespect. You guys think nothing of it while these girls here have to build up defenses high enough every day so by the time they get home, those walls haven't crumbled below their tolerance threshold. That's no way to live, is it, gentlemen?"

"No, ma'am!" they shouted.

Coach Sylvester groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh, c'mon—at ease!" She continued to glare at them even after they did so…fractionally. "Listen, there is every chance in the world this tiny creation I carry inside my womb will either be a girl or a boy who would want to be a girl; either way, I'll be damned if I allow this epitome of humanity to be subjected to the world I lived in and these girls live in, and that starts with you. So, while they have their self-defense classes, you boys will be with me and Coach Roz, learning how to treat non-males and those who identify as such with the utmost respect—and it is _not_ optional."

She then smiled and inclined her head. "Good evening, gentlemen. See you next Wednesday…"

Coach Beiste also nodded, but accepted tight hugs from all the girls before she followed her colleague out of the choir room. The facilitators and the assistants were the last to leave, the girls either slapping or dapping hands in goodbye. But then they ignored their classmates as they gathered their things, and all the guys looked at each other in confusion.

"Uh, hey, what's going on?"

"Jolly White Giant is deaf," Santana muttered. "Coach Sylvester just explained everything to you."

"Yeah but she used a lot of big words…"

Puck narrowed his eyes at all of them. "I think Coach Sue was implying someone in this room has been in an abusive relationship; but that's impossible, because all the girls in this room have only ever been in a relationship with us—"

"Except Mercedes," Sam said lowly, his eyes boring into her. At first, Mercedes looked very confused; but then comprehension dawned and her entire face became animated with shock.

"Oh _hell_ naw—!"

"I'm just sayin', Mercedes, Shane's a big dude with big fists! And he was awfully grabby with you sometimes—"

"Shut the _entire_ fuck up, Sam Evans!" Mercedes yelled, her body shaking from her rage. "I cannot even _believe_ you right now! Shane is one of the gentlest, sweetest guys at this entire damn school! One of the few jocks to _never_ slushie anyone—!"

"That's true," Puck said with a shrug.

"So then why did Coach Sue make that speech, huh? I know none of _us_ would ever do what she said!"

"Yeah, well, that's what Coach Beiste thought, too, until Cooter clocked her in the damn eye!" Mercedes snapped. "_None_ of us are safe, not really! She's absolutely right we need these classes; and the way guys here treat us sometimes…" Mercedes shook her head while the other girls nodded.

"Let's not forget you outed me in the halls, Finnocence," Santana said, "because I hurt your _feelings_—"

Finn sputtered. "But you _slapped _me afterwards!"

"You fucking deserved it!" Santana said. "Did you know for _weeks_ afterwards, I had guys coming up to me saying they'd 'fuck me straight'? Did you know I had to go _all_ Lima Heights on some freshman hockey upstart who thought my boobs were fair game to grab because he overheard me bragging about them to Brittany and Sugar?"

"One guy even tried to slip me a dollar so I could 'love him long time'," Tina said quietly.

"_WHAT?_" Mike yelled, and Blaine and Rory had to hold him back from an imaginary foe.

"And every time you guys call me stupid, or trick me into doing things because I'm not always the brightest," Brittany said, shrugging, and Santana squeezed her girlfriend's hand. "It's not cool."

"Nope," Sugar said, shaking her head seriously. "Not cool at all."

Santana glared. "Yeah, so, _Rory_, trying to convince Brittany you were a fucking _leprechaun_ so you could get into her _pot o' gold_—_fuck you_."

Rory turned beet red and took several steps back.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Dude, _seriously_?"

"I thought it was clever…"

All the girls face-palmed at Finn's comment.

"Thus proving why we have to meet with Coach Sylvester in the first place," Blaine said on a sigh.

Mercedes sucked her teeth and scoffed, rolling her eyes as she gathered her belongings. The girls followed her lead and before any of the guys realized, they were alone in the choir room, reminiscent of a few days ago when they pulled their all-nighter to help Puck.

"Wait—I'm sorry—did Hot Mama just say Cooter hit the _Beiste_?" Puck asked.

"How does that even happen?" Artie asked, scratching his head.

"Cooter's clearly an asshole," Mike said, and everyone looked at him in shock. "What?"

"You cursed, dude!" Finn said. "You _never_ curse!"

"You do a lot of things you don't think you'd do with the right motivation…" Sam said, his speech trailing off as he blinked slowly. "And that's exactly Mercedes' point."

The guys grew quiet again.

"I think the sessions with Coach Sylvester are a good idea," Joe said eventually.

"Yeah, but I think we have some damage control to handle with our ladies," Blaine added, and the other guys nodded.

Their ladies were at their respective lockers, Finn and Puck opting to see Santana and Brittany while Artie and Joe checked on Sugar. Blaine and Mike went to see Tina, which left Sam all alone with Mercedes. Sam chuckled a bit in appreciation; he knew this was their way of subtly helping him get back into her good graces.

Sam made sure Mercedes noticed his approached, and he waited until she faced him to make his move. He braced his hands on either side of her head, pressing them against the lockers. They both breathed in deeply as he bent forward until his forehead brushed hers. Their eyes never broke contact those first breathless moments, then he closed his eyes and breathed her in, smelling her light perspiration and the cocoa butter she used in her hair and skin.

"I apologize for insinuating Shane had ever hurt you," he began softly, eyes still closed. "You would never allow that to happen."

"I've done some things I've never thought I'd do, Sam," Mercedes replied just as softly.

He nodded, foreheads still touching. "Mercedes Jones, if I ever—_ever_—touch you, talk to you, think of you, _look at you_ without the reverence you deserve, I will deserve every moment of that ass beating you'll give me, your mama will give me, _my_ mama will give me, and spending the rest of my life in jail right before I go to hell."

Sam felt her small hands touch his waist. "But what if I hurt you?"

"I'll walk away. I've done it before."

She sighed slowly. "It's always hard to watch."

Sam nodded. It'd happened twice, the second time even more devastating than the first. "Even harder to do. Being away from you makes it hard to breathe, Mercedes."

She dropped her forehead from his and placed it against his chest. Sam pulled his hands from the lockers to wrap his arms fully about her, his breath shuddering out his body as he did so. They didn't speak, at least not verbally, allowing the embrace to say what words weren't sufficient enough to convey.


	13. Taking Stock

**Title:** Taking Stock  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E19.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Prom was the perfect time to take inventory on what matters.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This one-shot was partly inspired by a prompt by puppy-love-club, who wanted some fluffy prom and parking lot shenanigans. Please forgive any lingering errors and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>Mercedes paced the auditorium stage, wondering why it felt as if a whole flock of pterodactyls were trying to take flight in her belly. It wasn't as if she'd never asked Sam to prom before—in fact, she'd done it last year. But last year, Sam's answer wouldn't have made or broken her like it would this year, mainly because, despite her crush at the time, she hadn't been all that sure he was even remotely interested going with two "losers". It would've done nothing to help his social clout, particularly since he'd been contending with homelessness then; but he had been, and it'd been the best night of her life.<p>

It'd been Quinn who'd convinced her to do this, although not explicitly. All the glee girls (even Rachel, though she was still in her post-choke funk and was overcompensating by being obnoxiously bubbly) had gone shopping for prom dresses and the girls were teasing Quinn about her growing closeness to Joe. Mercedes had joined in, but not to embarrass, more encouraging Quinn to take a chance.

"Why not?" Quinn had ultimately said. "Although, baby steps—a 'dance' at prom is all I'm promising…"

And if Quinn could even grant Sophomore Joe that, Mercedes thought she could do at least one better with Sam…if he were game…

She felt him before she saw him, his steps quiet as he approached. She turned her body to face him; and, unlike last year, Sam got all in her personal space when he finally stopped before her.

"_You rang_?" he said, mimicking Lurch's tone.

Mercedes couldn't help her snort, trying to hide her grin but knowing she, as usual, was unsuccessful. "I texted."

"Same difference," Sam continued in his "Lurch" voice, but then he reverted to his normal one. "But seriously, what's up? Why are we in the auditorium?" He looked around. "There's no band, so I'm assuming this isn't an ambush serenade?"

Mercedes arched a brow. "I can serenade you without music, Evans."

He brightened. "Are you?"

This time she didn't bother hiding her smile. "You're a mess!"

"Nothing messy about wanting you to sing for me, Mizz Jones," he replied with a shrug and his own lopsided grin.

Mercedes shook her head, allowing her smile to melt into a slightly apprehensive expression. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

She stuffed her hands in her pockets, belatedly realizing that was exactly how Sam was currently standing…how he stood last year when she'd asked him to prom. She huffed out a breath and yanked her hands out of her pockets, staring at her nails to gather her wits and courage. Somehow, it'd been easier with Rachel next to her, ready to explain something just in case she fumbled. Mercedes still was inexperienced when it came to guys, even _if_ she'd somehow managed to date two at the same time this past year; and after all she and Sam had gone through, she wasn't going to assume anything about what his potential answer could be.

She jumped a little when large, warm hands enveloped her own, and she stared at the clean nails and pale fingers enveloping her painted, darker ones. She let out a deep breath, wondering why tears were starting to form, and she shook her head and cleared her throat.

"Mercedes?"

"Would you like to go to prom with me? Be my prom date?"

His thumbs stroked the heel of her hand and caressed her fingernails. She stared at the action, at its familiarity and its strangeness because it'd been so long since he'd done, but so welcome, like a favorite shirt.

"Will it be the dirty kind?"

His voice was a rumble; but when her eyes snapped up to his face, she burst out laughing because of the exaggerated lewd expression he wore. Sam chuckled as well, pulling her closer by bringing their joined hands behind his back.

"I'm just kiddin'," Sam promised, and Mercedes arched an eyebrow at him. "Mostly."

"Right."

"Can I be honest, though?" Sam asked. She didn't move hers when he brought his arms back around her shoulders, the back of one hand touching her cheek. "If I go as your prom date…I wanna go as your boyfriend too."

Mercedes ducked her head, the tears stinging her eyes again. "What's the point in that, though? In a few short weeks, I'll be gone, graduated, and you—"

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, totally don't care. Distance and the possibility of never seeing you again didn't make me stop loving you before; don't know why you think it will now."

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it were that fundamentally basic, that Mercedes giggled for lack of knowing what else to do with her emotions. It was his turn to arch a brow.

"Do I _amuse you_, Mizz Jones?"

"Always," she sassed, and he grinned, bending slightly so they were closer to eye level.

"I'll do an even better job as your boyfriend," Sam said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Nasty."

"I wasn't even there, but now I am and I don't ever wanna leave," Sam said, squeezing her closer and kissing her cheek. Mercedes giggled even more when he started nuzzling her ear and neck, jerking back and popping his shoulder lightly. Sam looked not one bit contrite as he brought her flush against him again, but he did nod once.

"So, how 'bout it, Mercedes?"

She looked at him, recognized the lack of bravado in the question that was full of nothing but hope, and realized that even after she graduated they would still have another summer together—hopefully an entire one—to be with each other. It'd only taken a few short weeks to fall before; but she was there now, deep in love with this boy who wasn't going away no matter what the odds said. She was done denying that truth, trying to be practical about something that wasn't practical at all.

Grinning softly, Mercedes snuggled into his chest and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. You can be my boyfriend again—!"

He'd lifted her and twirled her around once, her legs comically swinging out behind her like a banner. She was dizzy from the spin and joy when her legs touched the ground, but her giggles still wouldn't be denied. Sam hugged her tightly, his own body trembling, and she ran her hands up and down his back soothingly.

"Is it bad I don't wanna let you go?" he asked after a moment.

She felt her tears returning and she shook her head. "No."

He squeezed her harder. "Good. Now I don't have to pretend to feel guilty about it."

They didn't verbally tell anyone they were officially together again, and thankfully Rachel's drama kept everyone out of their business for the most part. Surprisingly, it was Mike who'd realized it first during their next glee club meeting, but he'd just settled for tapping Mercedes' arm with his foot and grinning knowingly at her, Tina catching on seconds later with a beaming smile and a look that they'd talk after school.

It figured when she got her boyfriend back, Mercedes would be too busy to enjoy him. She'd been pulled into helping Brittany get prom off the ground while Sam had his own rehearsals for his prom performance that he'd been keeping hush-hush from her. She couldn't wait to hear what campy song "No Direction", as the group called themselves, would perform.

"_I_ know, but I've been _sworn_ to secrecy," Tina said as they painted the Styrofoam dinosaurs in the gym. It was two evenings before prom and the place was still buzzing. There were Cheerios, glee club members, and even some football and hockey players helping to get the gym prom ready. Brittany was a most scatter-brained general, but luckily Santana was there to translate on her behalf.

"Will it be better than 'Friday'?" Mercedes asked.

"I saw you jamming to it," Tina said, nudging Mercedes with her shoulder.

"Right…they _did_ set the bar pretty high last year," she said, and the girls snickered together.

The day of prom was craziness. Her doorbell constantly chimed because New Directions girls were coming in for free, last-minute alterations on their dresses. Luckily, Mercedes had already gone to the beauty salon to get her hair done, but she thought she looked funny running around in sweats with an elegant up-do. The one arrival that shocked Mercedes the most was Rachel's, especially since the girl was holding a garment bag in her arms.

"You're dressing up for anti prom?"

Rachel gave a melancholy shrug and entered. "No…I'd ordered the dress before I'd decided to boycott the prom but it came yesterday and, I just—I don't have any—"

"What about Kurt?" Mercedes asked. "He's just as handy with a needle and thread."

Rachel shook her head. "He'd try to convince me to go to prom; you at least respect my decision to make a mistake I might regret."

Mercedes sighed. "And Finn's there." Rachel nodded. "Well, you know my vote is for you to put on your big girl britches and go to prom; but like you said—your life, your choices."

Rachel nodded again but did allow a small smile. "Your hair's pretty."

Mercedes struck a pose. "Thank you. And if you come to prom, you'll get to see the rest of the ensemble."

An hour after Rachel left (it was a shame no one would possibly see such a pretty dress on her), Quinn called in a panic, suddenly getting cold feet about going to prom even though she was up for prom queen. Mercedes insisted she'd be beautiful as her own mother helped her in her dress—it'd been a one and done for Mercedes when she'd seen it in the dress shop where she'd worked over the summer.

"If it weren't for this chair, I'd be even more beautiful," Quinn mumbled.

"Maybe that's just God's way of leveling the playing field for the rest of us," Mercedes said, winking at mother, who merely rolled her eyes.

Quinn's scoff crackled over the speakerphone of Mercedes' Droid. "You forget I needed a surgeon to be this 'beautiful'; you were born that way."

"So were you; beauty isn't just package, Quinn," Mercedes' mom said, and Mercedes hugged her on behalf of Quinn and herself.

Ten minutes after ending the call with Quinn, the Joneses' doorbell rang. Her mother gasped and started beaming at her daughter, making Mercedes blush and avert her eyes from the mirror and her mother's eyes.

"Are you nervous?" Mrs. Jones asked.

"_Very_," Mercedes replied.

Mrs. Jones kissed her daughter's temple. "You look like a princess, Mercedes. Sam will think himself the luckiest guy at prom."

Her mother led the way, but Mercedes got stuck on the middle of the stairs—not because of the wide skirt of her dress, but because Sam's eyes had riveted her to the spot. He looked so handsome standing there at the bottom of the steps, his hair shorter than last year so she could see his eyes now; an actual tie instead of the bolo version; his eyes full of an emotion she'd never thought would be directed at her until well after college…and even then, it'd been a rare musing. But her mind blanked of everything but him when he bounded up the steps and pulled her into the warmest hug he'd ever given her.

Mercedes hugged him back fully and took a deep breath. It reminded her of the hug he'd given her during Nationals, the moment when she realized this boy wasn't anywhere near like the others…the moment when she realized he'd started to change her life forever. She didn't think _this_ moment would happen when he'd left last summer; and yet here he was, in her arms and about to take her to the last prom of her high school career.

"Hey, boo," she whispered.

"Hey yourself, beautiful," he returned just as softly, kissing her cheek as he pulled back with a smile.

Unlike most of McKinley High, who'd descended upon Breadstix, Sam took her to an old-fashioned diner that wasn't too far from the pizza place where he'd worked last summer. She learned they were owned by the same person and their meal was on the house because she'd liked Sam.

"How much did she _like_ you?" Mercedes asked, eyeing him because they'd eaten a lot of food.

"She liked my dad more, honestly," Sam said with a chuckle and slight blush.

Mercedes grinned. "I'm not mad at that—your dad's a hottie!"

He scowled a little, but then smirked. "People say I look just like him…"

She just giggled and shrugged in response, throwing a wink his way.

It was almost nonstop dancing from the moment they entered the gym. They rarely let go of each other, from full on hugging to being connected by mere pinkies, but it was the most fun Mercedes had had all year. There was even a bit of closure for her and Shane, and she could admit he looked extremely happy with his new girlfriend, who really was cute…and tall…

Mercedes wasn't jealous, though, not when Sam would bring her in flush against him to nuzzle her cheek or neck as if just needing to breathe her in and remind himself they actually _were_ together again now.

The highlight of prom, however, was seeing Quinn stand (although the No Directions performance was a very close second). Sam had to stop Mercedes from rushing up to the stage, so he pulled her into a silly dance right before taking a ridiculous prom picture. It'd worked right up until the song ended, and Mercedes was the first one there to greet Quinn as Santana rolled her down the ramp.

"Q!" Mercedes squealed, throwing her arms around the blonde. She couldn't stop the tears even if she'd tried, and Mercedes wasn't generally a crier. Quinn's hold was tight and comforting, and she laughed softly in Mercedes' ear. Quinn pulled back and framed Mercedes' face in her hands, brushing away the tears.

"I still have a lot more to go," Quinn said, smiling, "but, yeah…"

Reluctantly, Mercedes stepped back so Tina could get in her own blubbering hug, and she hugged Joe tightly. "Thank you for helping my girl."

"Of course," Joe said, returning the embrace.

Because Rachel still had the hotel suite for the night, the glee club returned there for post-prom festivities. Brittany and Santana were helping Quinn change in the bathroom, so Mercedes, who'd already changed into her sweats and oversized off-shoulder tee, plopped herself into the girl's wheelchair and tried to chase Artie around the room. Puck and Becky egged her on, but of course she wasn't any match for Artie's skill. When the girls appeared from the bathroom, Mercedes changed course and held out her arms so Quinn could sit in her lap.

"Like old times," Quinn murmured, snuggling into Mercedes.

"Yep, except there's only one big belly in the way instead of two!" Mercedes quipped.

"Don't you be disparaging that belly, woman!" Sam said with a glower, "that's my sixth favorite part on you!"

The room erupted into hoots and hollers at that. "_Please_…_do_ tell what parts one through five are…" Mike said, fluttering his lashes.

Puck's hand shot up. "_My_ number one is _dat ass_—"

"Agreed," Artie said with a solemn nod.

"Mine are the boobs," Finn said with a shrug, then yelped when Rachel slapped his shoulder hard.

"Gotta agree with Gigantor," Santana said with a shrug.

"Same," Becky said, waving a praise hand.

"Totally," Brittany added, slipping her arm through her girlfriend's. "They're like two soft pillows. I call dibs tonight."

"As long as I get the other," Kurt piped up, as if he were haggling a price for a new scarf instead of sleeping on a boob.

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, aghast.

"What? You just wait until you get a chance to sleep with Mercedes—you'd be negotiating too!"

Sam and Rory made strangled sounds that would've had Mercedes rolling if she weren't so flabbergasted by the current conversation.

"Mine—"

"Don't _even_, Chang!" Tina snarled.

"Yes, ma'am…"

Husky laughter filled Mercedes' ear right before a soft kiss fell upon her cheek. Quinn winked at her and squeezed her neck. "Told you."

Mercedes tried to hide a blushing smile and looked away from them all. "Shuddup…"

The adrenaline of the night tapered off much more quickly than any of them had anticipated, and it was actually Blaine and Rachel who were conked out first, both cuddled together on one side of the bed. Joe and Rory had left because Joe's mother refused to have her young son stay out all night in a coed hotel room unsupervised; a sleepover with Rory had been Joe's compromise.

"Lightweights," Kurt muttered, leaning against Quinn as they sat on the rollaway mattress at the foot of the bed. "You didn't even spike the punch all that much, Puck."

Puck shrugged from where he and Becky were reclining on the bed watching television. "I wasn't prepared like I was last year; but Queen Becks here had given me the golden opportunity so I had to take it where I could." Anti-Prom King and Queen gave each other high fives and Mercedes chuckled sleepily. She'd somehow ended up sharing the easy chair with Tina while Sam and Mike sat on the floor in front of them. Tina was starting to doze on Mercedes' shoulder while gliding her fingers through Mike's hair, and Sam was playing some card game with Artie, Finn, and Brittany. Santana's head was in Brittany's lap, and the brunette was also blinking drowsily at the game.

"Have you lost yet?" Mercedes asked on a lazy drawl.

"That's a rude question," Sam muttered, hissing at the card Brittany threw out.

"No, but he's about to," Artie said with a cackle, fist-bumping Brittany over the pile of cards.

"Dude, this is _so_ the last time I'm asking you to be my partner," Finn whined.

"Uh, _this_ is not my fault—"

"Not this game, anyway," Tina mumbled, and Mercedes and Mike snorted at that.

When they finally lost, Mercedes tapped Sam's shoulder with her foot and stood with a groan, dropping a kiss to Tina's forehead when the other girl whined in protest.

"You _are_ comfortable," Tina said, eyeing her as if affronted.

"Told you!" Kurt trilled.

"Remember, I have dibs," Brittany said, shuffling the cards like a pro.

"Well, while y'all duke it out, I'mma need your keys, Sammy, so I can get my sleep cap."

"Your what?" he asked.

"My sleep cap," she repeated, "because this hairstyle needs to last until my firstborn is eighteen with the amount of money I paid for it."

"_Tía_ thanks you, by the way," Santana said cheekily.

"Does that mean we get started on our baby tonight?" Sam asked on a yawn, sluggishly rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. It suddenly got very quiet in the hotel room and Sam's heavy eyes popped open while his hand dropped down to his lap abruptly. "I said that out loud."

"_Dude_!" Puck exclaimed and whistled. "Get it _in_!"

Mercedes was still gaping at Sam when she felt a tug on the orange hoodie she was wearing. "Tina! What?"

"_Have_ _you and Sam_—?"

"Keys, Samson, _now_!" Mercedes growled.

Sam scrambled to his feet amid the second wind he'd given his formerly sluggish friends. "Yeah, no, it's, like, three in the morning, so I'll go."

"You don't even know what you're looking for!" Mercedes argued, heading towards Sam's suit jacket to fish out his keys herself. She grabbed them just as Sam's hand closed over hers. "Sam—"

"You're _not _going by yourself, Mercedes Jones!"

"Lover's spat, make up tap!" Becky sang.

"_Nice_ one, Becks!" Puck congratulated, and the Anti-Royalty high fived again.

Mercedes elbowed Sam hard enough to get him to back up and he did, but not without taking the keys with him. He marched to the door and opened it, presenting the way with an exaggerated flourish. Rolling her eyes, Mercedes went through, ignoring the lascivious catcalls trailing behind them.

They entered the elevator silently, both of them glaring at the doors as it made the short trip to the ground floor. Mercedes stuffed her hands in the hoodie's pockets and ignored Sam sucking his teeth at the move.

"Humph," she grunted, exiting the elevator and leaving the hotel.

"Way to be an adult, Mercedes."

Now she was the one sucking teeth, trying not to shiver against the chill of the night. "If you had your way, I'd be so adult I'd be poppin' out a _baby_ in nine months!"

"I don't know why you're so surprised by this. It ain't like I haven't asked you to marry me before," he groused, jerking open the passenger door of his truck.

"Because we all think it'll end _so well_ for Rachel and Finn!" Mercedes snapped, climbing inside and immediately spotting her sleep cap. She stuffed it in her pocket and tried to climb out, but Sam didn't give her room, so she huffed and sat on the seat facing him. "What?"

"I think it will," Sam said with a shrug. Mercedes sighed and remained nonchalant as Sam stepped even closer and slid his arms on either side of her hips. "I _know_ we will." His hands palmed her ass and brought her closer to him. "This is Number Two by the way."

"Number Two?"

"Of my favorite parts of you."

She frowned at him right before a laugh burst from her. One minute they were arguing and the next he was complimenting her ass.

"You really have them numbered?"

"And apparently so does everyone else," he said with a pout.

"You started it!"

"No, you did, by trying to talk smack about this belly I love so much…"

His words became muffled as he bent his head and nuzzled said belly with his face. Mercedes giggled and tried to scoot away, but he tightened his hold on her booty and blew a raspberry. Mercedes chortled at that, throwing back her head, then her breath caught as his face now buried into her chest, snuggling her heartbeat underneath her left breast.

"Number Five," he whispered, then placed a kiss on it. Mercedes cupped his face and pulled it out of her chest.

"What's Number Five?"

"Your boobs," Sam said, grinning slightly. "Sorry I'm not sorry for thinking you have the best tits I've ever seen—"

"Sam!"

"You do, though. I mean, even _Santana_ likes them!" Mercedes scoffed. "_And _I overheard Rachel accusing Finn of wishing she had a chest like yours. Lots of slamming doors that afternoon—"

"Oh, _God_—!"

"But Number Four is your hands," Sam said, effectively changing the subject and kissing the heels of her hands. "I love to hold them; I love it when they touch me…I just love 'em."

He leaned his face in her right hand, and Mercedes slid her left one through his hair. Sam turned her hand around and kissed the knuckle of each finger right before linking their fingers together, and he lifted his head to kiss her cheek.

"Back to Number Two…"

"I thought Number Two was my donk," Mercedes teased.

"Number Two is actually your cheeks," Sam clarified. "_Both_ kinds." He smiled against her face's cheek and burrowed against the growing apple of it. "You are just the most adorably sexy thing…"

His free arm pulled her even closer to him, and Mercedes spread her legs to accommodate. He was suddenly flush between her legs, and the friction of her sweatpants and his closeness made the space between her thighs feel heavy.

"What's Number One?" Mercedes whispered, shivering now from the glide of his hands along her torso. She'd forgotten about the cold what seemed likes hours ago.

Sam didn't answer immediately, too preoccupied with planting tiny kisses along her cheek and jaw and chin. His nose grazed her lip and she jerked back playfully, grinning at his deep chuckle as his mouth hovered over hers.

"Your lips," he murmured, making sure his brushed hers. She tried to make it a legitimate kiss, but he denied her even as one of _her_ favorite parts of him started sliding down Number Six and beneath the elastic of her sweatpants and panties.

"Sammy?" she breathed.

"_Both_ pairs…"

"Fuck."

Like his lips against her mouth, his fingers grazed her slick opening, avoiding her straining clit because he was an ain't-shit asshole and loved to tease.

"I've missed these lips," Sam said conversationally. "I miss…_kissing you_…"

"Then why won't you?" Mercedes whined, trying to press her mouth against his but to no avail. The most he'd done since his return was that sweet kiss a few weeks back, when he'd cupped her face and nipped her lips; but that had been it. Everything else had been a peck here or a snuggle there, but not one solid _kiss_.

"Before, I didn't trust myself not to stop," he answered. "And you weren't allowing yourself to be mine to kiss."

Mercedes scowled at him trying to place everything in her lap, especially since that was exactly where the blame should be. She keened softly still, futilely getting his lips to press against hers. "Why won't you kiss me _now_?"

"Because our first time shouldn't be in my truck in a Red Rooster parking lot…or a Red Rooster _anything_," Sam said gruffly, attaching his lips to her neck. "Number Eight, by the way…" His teeth grasped her earlobe. "Nine…"

Mercedes groaned and shifted her hips so his fingers could go where she wanted them to be, but Sam wasn't having any of it. "I want you to _kiss me_!"

He pulled back with a grin, then stood straighter and pressed his mouth to her forehead. "Ten." That mouth brushed over each eye. "Three." He then found the end of her nose. "Seven." He grinned then and moved his nose along it. "I _really_ like Seven…"

Mercedes scrunched up Seven in embarrassment, wondering why her nose, of all things, was so high up on the list. "Kiss Number One."

His breathing was ragged now. "Yeah?"

"Please, Sammy," she cooed, tilting her chin up so her lips touched his. "Kiss Number One."

His expression softened right before he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. Her entire body relaxed in relief even as she attacked his lips with gusto. She broke contact with a harsh gasp when his fingers finally plunged themselves inside of her, her vaginal walls closing around them like a vice.

"I've _missed this_," Sam whispered gutturally as his forehead dropped against hers, pumping his fingers now. She could barely see his green eyes, but she felt them bore right through her. "I've _missed you_…"

She lifted her hips so his free hand could yank down her pants and panties, but their lips met gently now that the edge was off. His fingers continued their hard thrusts, and her hips met them just as forcefully.

She gave intelligible protest when he ended the kiss, shaking her head desperately. "No! Where are you going?"

"You told me to kiss Number One," Sam said, removing his hand from her body and sucking the juices from his fingers. "Just followin' directions."

It took her entirely too long to figure out what he was doing; but by the time she did, she was in the middle of her orgasm. She missed _this kiss_ more than she'd care to admit, his full lips making love to hers so completely she began to sob. She was glad the truck was old enough for bench seating, allowing her to fully recline, and Sam finished shoving down her clothes until they hung off one ankle and opened her wide.

She shivered against the cold and his tongue, laughing a little when his hands smoothed up her stomach and squeezed. He pulled his lips away to nibble and nuzzle her inner thighs, and Mercedes gathered enough strength to prop up against the back of the seat and slide her fingers through his hair.

"Twelve," he muttered, pressing a kiss to a fleshy thigh before returning to her vagina. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he pulled away enough so she could get a good look at his tongue circling her clit. Her nipples were hard enough to break glass, and she didn't think anything of manipulating them with her fingers.

"Pull up your shirt," he ordered against her creamy lips, the rumble of his deep voice vibrating throughout her entire body.

Mercedes didn't break their eye contact while she pulled up the hoodie, shirt, and tank she wore, exposing her breasts to the cold and Sam's gaze. He growled softly and languidly moved his kisses from her slick folds and up her body. She snorted out a laugh when his tongue teased her belly button, and she moaned when that same tongue laved a nipple. His fingers lazily pumped in an out of her as he suckled her, making sure each nipple got some loving. She started to shake again, and Sam covered her mouth with his just in time for her second orgasm to crack through her.

"Wakey, wakey," Sam crooned in her ear sometime later.

Mercedes blinked to awareness, and Sam's face was right there. She grinned shyly and he returned his own smile with a kiss to her cheek. She shifted and realized her clothes had been righted and she wasn't sticky between her legs. Mercedes raised an eyebrow at him.

"Cleaned you up a bit," he said with a shrug.

"So considerate," she said, kissing his jaw, then her eyes widened and her hand flew to her hair.

"It still looks perfect," he promised.

"Even in the back?" Mercedes asked frantically, and she smoothed her hand along it. There were some flyaways, but nothing a careful brush couldn't fix. Grunting, she snatched the sleep cap from her hoodie's pocket and settled it atop her head, eyeing Sam's wide-eyed stare in challenge.

"What?"

He suddenly laughed, and it wasn't a mere chuckle. He left the truck's cab to hang against the door as his mirth doubled him over. Mercedes huffed at him, scooting out of the truck and stomping away from him, ignoring his calls to wait. She heard the door slam, his last giggles leave him, and felt his arm sneak around her waist.

"Huh-uh, _no_," Mercedes denied, trying to get him to let her go, but he just pulled her closer.

"I'm sorry! I was just—it was like back at the lake all over again and you panicking about that damn swim cap and—!" He stopped walking and bent over once more, his face red as he wheezed.

Mercedes pulled a stank face at him, then jerked out of his arms and kept walking. "You know what you can do, Samson Evans, you can kiss the _entirety _of my black Number Two!" She slapped her booty for emphasis.

He stopped laughing and Mercedes looked over her shoulder at him, glimpsing the predatory gleam in his green eyes thanks to one of the parking lot lights. They both immediately took off in a run, but he reached her just as she entered the elevator.

Mike and Puck caught them in there moments later with Mercedes sitting in Sam's lap as he peppered kisses all along her face.


	14. Carefully Laid Plans

**Title:** Carefully Laid Plans  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E21.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In which Sam thinks there is something more going on than just a bad burrito.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> That it took me three weeks to write this update, that it took me that long to process the back stretch of the _Glee_ season...anyway, here it is. Please forgive any lingering errors and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

><p>Sam had had such plans for Nationals, and all of them had almost been done in by a bad burrito.<p>

The last time Mercedes had had food poisoning it'd been because of an Italian sausage sub he'd made for her at work using fresh ingredients that had just arrived at the restaurant that day and had been among his best sandwich jobs yet. He'd surprised her with it, arriving at her home before going to the motel and noticing she'd looked exhausted even though she'd said she'd done nothing that Saturday. He'd gotten a text from her that evening that'd said she'd gotten sick—"probably because of the sandwich"—and a nagging suspicion had weaved its way through the guilt he'd felt at causing her illness.

It returned again when a frantic Rachel and Kurt barged into the boys' room looking for Mr. Schuester and hastily explaining how Mercedes ended up decorating a Chicago sidewalk after only two bites of the nefarious snack. Mr. Schue had ordered them to lead the guys down to their reserved rehearsal space while he went to check on Mercedes.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked immediately, damn near tripping over Rachel as he crowded her for her answer.

She eyed him and sped up her steps while he belatedly adjusted his gait to give her room. "While all of us girls protested her choice of eateries, she'd barely _had _any of that burrito…but she didn't look good when she woke up this morning. She looked exhausted—"

"We're _all_ exhausted!" Rory piped up from the back of the queue they'd made. "And we have rehearsal in ten minutes!"

Sam glared at the boy briefly but Rachel continued on. "Yes, but she's been _really_ sluggish and stiff, if that's possible—"

"Yeah; she looks like she did during that booty camp where she threw up," Mike murmured.

They entered the rehearsal space quietly, letting that observation marinate.

"Irony. I thought she was pregnant then," Puck finally said, breaking the silence, then shoved Sam. "Dude!"

Sam _felt_ his face turning purple and shoved Puck back. "_No way_—!"

"Ugh! _Boys_!" Rachel snapped, clapping her hands rapidly to get them back to focus. "Whether she is or isn't is irrelevant, particularly when Quinn had _her _baby right after Regionals! The point is having Mercedes out _severely_ hampers our chances to win!"

"But we can do it without her, right?" Finn asked, desperately trying to rally the troops from the downer that had befallen the room. "Especially with you as our 'Unique' factor, right, Rachel?"

Rachel had the surprising grace to look appalled by her fiancée's comment.

"So much for everyone being important to the damn club," Sam muttered while rolling his eyes.

"Well, I mean, _we_ won Sectionals without her—"

"Oh hell naw!" Artie exclaimed, glowering at Finn and shaking his head. "Don't even—especially when you've _just_ finished saying we'll be all right with Rachel, and _she_ wasn't with us for Sectionals, either—!"

"But I was there for _support_—!"

"All right!" Kurt yelled, throwing up his hands to emphasize the need for silence. "None of this is going to help get Mercedes better right now. Let's just start going over steps and wait for Mr. Schue to—"

Tina rushed into the room, followed by the other girls, and immediately threw her arms around Mike. He looked around bewilderedly then squeezed her to him and whispered in her ear, rubbing her back soothingly.

_Fuck_! Sam thought, already heading to the door but Santana waylaid him.

"Nope, Trouty, we have rehearsal!" Santana said firmly, a hand to his chest. "And you still don't have the moves right. 'Cedes will be okay."

"How bad is it?" Sam asked.

Santana rolled her eyes and pushed him back a little. "She's not _dying_…just a little food poisoning. Frankly, I'm not here for her letting loose in a corner again like last time. Coach Sylvester had to physically keep her in the bed." Her face softened a little. "She's doing what she can to get better, which means so should _you_. Your dancing's almost as bad as Finn's—"

"That's really bad," Finn interrupted unnecessarily.

Sam's eyes flicked from Santana to the door and back. "Fine, but I want to see her," he said so only she could here.

Santana nodded but said nothing.

Rehearsal was long and horrendous, namely because none of them couldn't focus—particularly Sam. He'd even lashed out at Puck in his frustration (although in hindsight, using their breaks to study for his geography test wasn't the worst idea in the world); but luckily his friend had let it go with a pat on the back and a confession he was worried about Mercedes too. Sugar damn near broke his heart, with her forlorn face as she alternately cuddled up with Rory and Artie during their brief breaks—though mainly Artie since he was always cuddle-ready because of his wheelchair.

He was surprised when Brittany came over and snuggled into him, stealing a glance at Santana who narrowed her eyes a bit but continued to help Tina and Quinn learn Mercedes' vocal parts.

"How're you doin', Britt?" Sam asked as amiably as he could.

Brittany hugged his arm and shrugged. "I don't like Mercedes not being here. I'm not gonna like it next year, either."

Sam frowned. "Because y'all are graduating and you won't be in glee club anymore?"

Brittany shrugged again but didn't confirm his clarification one way or the other. "She got like this before—"

"Booty camp, I heard," Sam said.

"No. It was a Troubletones rehearsal. She said the sloppy joe she had at lunch made her sick, except nobody else got sick. I thought she was pregnant _then_ until Santana reminded me you have to have sex to get pregnant and everyone knew she and Shane weren't having sex but then Mary got pregnant without sex so I was convinced she was gonna have another Jesus—"

She suddenly sat up straight. "Joe!"

Everyone abruptly grew quiet at her outburst, and Joe rushed to Brittany. "What's the matter?"

"Is Mercedes your mother?" Brittany asked, her eyes growing wide. "Are you _Jesus II_?"

The shocked silence made Sam's ears buzz, and he wondered if his face could possibly be redder than Joe's at that moment.

"_Oookay_…clearly we need to start taking longer fives…" Mr. Schue muttered, clapping his hands together.

Sam tried to see Mercedes when rehearsals ended, but Coach Sylvester denied him.

"She's finally sleeping without vomiting and moaning and I won't have you disturbing her, Evans."

He blinked at the lack of an offensive nickname, and Sam realized Coach Sylvester was serious about Mercedes's recovery for Mercedes, not just the competition. Because of this, Sam didn't try arguing, merely asked if he could see her in the morning. Coach Sylvester shrugged and told him to scram with a tilt of her chin.

Kurt and Blaine did their best to cheer him up, Mike doing it in intervals since he and Artie were still tutoring Puck for his test. They all knew the other reason why Sam was so disappointed by this turn of events. Since the competition, if not the date, commemorated the moment they'd gotten together as a couple, Sam had planned to take a page from Finn's book during last Nationals (except for the whole being rejected part) and surprise Mercedes with a dinner in the city and a walk down the pier near the hotel. Now they didn't even know if she'd be well enough to perform onstage.

He and Joe prayed for Mercedes' health before falling asleep; but even he had to side-eye the Lord when, the next morning, the girls revealed Mercedes went to the hospital in the middle of the night. Blaine, of all people, was the first to start tearing up at the news, and both Santana and Sam scowled heavily at him.

"No crying!" Tina snapped, and everyone gaped at her. She glared at them all and crossed her arms at her chest. "I'm barely holding on and if I start, I won't stop, so _no crying_!"

"It was Mercedes' idea," Quinn added, though Sam heard the shakiness in her voice. "She was moaning and restless all night; and Coach Sylvester asked if she wanted to go, so she said yes." Quinn sighed. "She's doing whatever she can to get better, you guys. We owe it to her not to freak out and keep our nose to the grind."

"What the fuck kind of burrito did she _eat_?" Puck asked. Nobody answered, treating that question as a rhetorical one.

They were all super focused that rehearsal, though Sam's ears would twitch every time a Mercedes line or cue came and someone else was in her space. He was happy Quinn was coming along with her singing and dancing but it wasn't the same. They all breathed sighs of relief when Coach Sylvester popped into rehearsal to let them know Mercedes was back in the room and sleeping again.

"She looks much better," she said. "Doctor prescribed more meds and rest, but she's determined to be on that stage with you—"

"This is not worth her health," Sam insisted. "I'd rather lose than to have her get worse."

Rachel sputtered a little, then fixed her face with a tight smile and nodded shortly. "Yes, yes. That is exactly right! Mercedes' health is _far_ more important…" The panic in her eyes belied her words, and she marched back into a corner again, Finn following to console her.

"She is so weird," Rory said out the side of his mouth, and Sam nodded.

Because Tina and Artie were brilliant, they brought down Artie's laptop for the final rehearsal run that night so Mercedes could Skype in from the room. Sugar, Brittany, and some Troubletone girls Sam still didn't fully know spent the majority of the off times hovered around the screen, sometimes giggling at one thing or another. The screen was facing the rehearsal, but Mercedes' camera wasn't on so he couldn't see her. During Rachel's solo run through, Sam went over to the laptop and typed a greeting, smiling wryly at Mercedes' response.

"No trophy is worth your health, though," Sam said as he typed the same message to her. He frowned when he read Mercedes' reply.

"I _will_ be on that stage, Evans—mark my words!"

"Somebody got told!" Artie said on a chuckle.

"You're okay with this?" he asked, pointing the Skype screen where Quinn and Joe were now engaged.

Artie's expression dimmed a little, but then he shrugged. "Nobody knows Mercedes' body better than Mercedes…_unfortunately_—"

"Say that again?" Sam asked lowly.

Artie threw up his hands in surrender. "My fault—but seriously; she's one of the original members and she was the first to sign up for glee club. After all the heartache and drama she's gone through, ain't no way a damn burrito's gonna keep her from trying to get her due."

"A burrito that puts you in the hospital after two bites?" Sam asked skeptically.

Artie shrugged. "Food poisoning is no joke—you _can_ die from it, Sam."

"Yeah, I'm not about that life," Sam muttered.

Artie grinned at hearing one of Mercedes' favorite expressions. "Nobody is; but she's also not about that 'sitting out of her final Nationals life', either."

True to her words, Mercedes arrived in the nick of time of the pre-show circle, looking beyond amazing in her costume and apparently so hopped up on drugs she was even mixing her Marvel Comics canon, since Bruce Banner hulked out because of gamma rays, not steroids. As thrilled as he was to see her, worry tempered his excitement; but a side eye and a short shake of her head told him she wasn't trying to hear anything about convincing her to sit this out.

Sam sulked a little bit because of that.

"You think she can pull this off?" Finn asked.

The boys and Rachel were watching the Troubletones go through a final, quick run with Mercedes not looking a step out of place. Pride made Sam's chest stick out at the sight.

"You obviously don't know Mercedes very well if you think she can't," Kurt chastised.

"Fierce, femme, phenomenal," Sam murmured, watching all of the Troubletones form a group hug around Mercedes. "That's my lady to a tee."

The actual performance was a blur to Sam, though the good feeling he had about it when they were done felt eerily similar to last year's. Mercedes hadn't made herself available at all when they got off stage, grabbing Kurt's hand and immediately venturing off to places unknown. He frowned a bit at that but welcomed the effervescent hug Quinn gave him, holding her gently but tightly.

"Have I said recently how proud I am of you?" he asked into her temple.

Quinn regarded him with teary green eyes and her bright, beautiful smile. "I'm proud of me too."

That feeling didn't compare to his giddiness upon learning the New Directions had won. He jumped around like a loon, even pulling in Puck for a kiss to his Mohawked head. He loved everything and everyone in that very moment, but none as much as the tiny woman a few rows ahead of him who looked back at him with shimmering eyes and her hands clasped to her heart. The peace that was settled over Mercedes brought tears in his own eyes. After the year he'd had—they'd _both_ had—he was so glad he could share this victorious moment with her on stage and finally understood why she worked so hard to be there. He wanted to go to her like he had last year; but he knew he wouldn't stop at a hug.

No way he could.

That night's gala celebration was a collaborative effort of all the show choirs who'd participated in the competition. The triumphant one held court, with the queen of the night—self-coronated as she was—flitted about the room under the guise of a gracious victor. Sam glanced to his right and caught Tina's judgy-appalled expression at Rachel's antics. Though New Directions' win had been an obvious group effort, no one would know it by the way Mr. Schue had waxed poetic about Rachel's solo and then her lead with Finn on the final group number. Then Rachel, during her group leader speech, had had the audacity to lament about not winning the soloist prize even as she'd claimed the Nationals trophy all but made up for the disappointment.

Quinn, Mike, and Sam almost had to hold Santana back again like last year.

But then Sugar had quite loudly declared Mercedes her personal MVP, and the entire Troubletones crew cheered in agreement. Mercedes appeared embarrassed and shook her head, though laughed heartily when Brittany hugged her from behind and even lifted her off her feet. Artie and Santana egged her on for a speech; and of all things, she'd thanked Mr. Schue, Rachel, and Quinn for giving her the opportunity to make good on a promise she'd made to her Troubletones at the beginning of the school year.

Sam had had to bite his lip to keep from snorting at Santana's eye roll and Brittany's side eye when Rachel hugged Mercedes' arm after that.

As he thought of his lady, Sam realized he hadn't seen her since she'd stepped out to take a call almost fifteen minutes ago. He shot her a text but didn't receive a reply until ten minutes later, a crisp "I'm fine" flashing upon his screen. His Mercedes Senses started tingling and he raised an eyebrow.

"I'll be back," Sam said, patting Puck on the shoulder. He was on the dance floor with Artie and a Troubletone as the DJ spun early-Aughts hip-hop.

"Where're you goin'?" Puck asked, doing a body roll that could use some more work according to Sam's critical eye.

"'Cedes hasn't come back yet," Sam said, waving his cell in the air. "Gonna go check on her."

"She's _fine_! Quit babying her, Samson!" Puck said, now doing a poor imitation of the Moonwalk. Artie shook his head balefully and the Troubletone snickered with exasperated amusement. "If Sylvester isn't freaking out, then you should definitely calm down!"

"Good luck with that!" Artie cracked, and Sam glowered without any real force behind it even as he gave a wave and continued out of the ballroom.

After searching through the lobby area and even stepping outside, Sam went up to the girls' room. He knocked on the door and frowned when no one answered immediately, raising his hand to knock again when the door finally opened. His eyes widened as he braced himself against the doorframe, trying desperately not to smirk at the sight before him. Doing so would get the opposite of what he wanted—which was entry—but it was damn hard not to with Mercedes wearing rainbows-and-clouds footie pajamas instead of the stylish gold strapless dress she'd worn earlier.

Instead, he arched an eyebrow at her. "I thought you said you had a call."

Mercedes looked off to the side and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. "I did…"

He couldn't help grinning, especially at the adorable pout that had taken over her face. "The bed's?"

Her lip poked out further.

"Can you conference me in?"

Mercedes' lips quirked as she tried to deny her grin. "There's still enough school year left for a suspension, and I'm not about that life, Sam Evans."

"I'll get Puck or Mike to text me," Sam assured her, leaning down enough so his lips grazed the shell of her ear. "I've missed you…"

Her body sagged; and with a huff, Mercedes stepped aside so he could enter. He beamed at her and whipped out his cell to text Puck and Mike. He didn't bother waiting for a reply as he toed out of his loafers and all but yanked his sky-blue dress shirt over his head. Mercedes was already in bed and under the covers, watching him through lidded eyes.

"You know, I feel like I'm being cheated out of a show, because this is some of the unsexiest stripping I've ever seen…"

"Who in the hell have you seen strip?" Sam asked, frowning at her.

"You mean other than Brittany that one time?" Mercedes asked with a snort. "That _was_ hot, though…"

This time, Sam did smirk and tugged his belt out of the loops of his black slacks, waving it over his head like a lasso. The buckle thwacked against the wall and he yanked the belt down with an alarmed expression on his face, hoping he didn't chip the paint. Meanwhile, Mercedes was laughing so hard her throat clicked.

"I was a construction worker, not a cowboy!" Sam exclaimed in his defense.

Mercedes snorted again and did tiny YMCA hand movements before falling into silent laughter once more. Scowling, Sam climbed atop the covers and threw a muscular arm over Mercedes' gloriously thick waist.

"Laughin' ain't nice."

Mercedes gasped for breath and whimpered. "I needed that and _not_ needed that at the same time…"

His thumb dipped into the curve of her waist. "Glad I could help, darlin'," he mumbled sarcastically.

Still smiling, Mercedes tangled her fingers with the ones at her waist. He smiled back fully then, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkle with the action, and she looked down shyly.

"Hey, Mercedes?"

"Yeah?"

"We won Nationals."

Mercedes giggled and nodded, looking at him through her lashes. "And we did it with you mean-mugging me the whole time."

He pursed his lips and glowered. "This win wasn't worth you possibly getting sicker, Mercedes Jones."

She shook her head and squeezed his hand. "The amount of tears I've shed over this…I had to a debt to collect, Sam Evans. That trophy is what I've been owed—"

"And here you are in bed, not feeling so good, because of it."

Mercedes sighed and shook her head again, turning over so she lay on her back. Sam sidled even closer and rested his head on her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair comfortingly.

"I didn't have food poisoning." Sam said nothing but kissed her collarbone. "I had a bad reaction to my medicine. I've had it before…you've seen me have it before."

"The 'food poisoning' when I brought you that sub," he guessed.

She nodded. "Yeah. And I _did_ have a call. Mama thought I should tell you, finally…because you've been worried about me."

He propped himself up on his elbow and untangled their fingers to glide his index along her nose to her lips. "What medicine, darlin'?"

Mercedes closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "It's called Hydrea. There are lots of side effects to it, including nausea, vomiting, drowsiness, and other general unpleasantness."

Sam felt sick just listening to the side effects. If that was what she had to deal with, what the hell was she trying to cure?

"Why are you taking it?"

She licked her lips. "I have sickle cell disease."

Air hissed out of him like a deflating balloon. He didn't know what that meant exactly, other than having a disease is the opposite of anything good. Sam cupped her face and silently implored her to look at him, which she did.

"How long?"

"Forever—I was born with it," Mercedes said on a dry chuckle. The Hydrea medicine is actually more effective than not; but whenever I'm really stressed or change other medications—"

"_Other_ medications—?"

"Like birth control?"

Sam blushed and pulled his lips between his teeth. "Oh, right."

She smiled more genuinely this time. "I haven't had a crisis in a while, and I was scared I was about to have one on the trip because I was hurting so badly, but the doctor at the hospital took me off the Hydrea for now and put me on steroids. When I get back home my doctor will adjust the meds and I'll be all right again."

Sam slunk back down, this time tucking Mercedes underneath his neck. "Does anyone else know?"

"Coach Sylvester. Ms. Corcoran knew. Quinn knows because she lived with me. Santana _made_ me tell her…"

"Nobody else, though?"

Mercedes scoffed. "I wouldn't even be in glee if Mr. Schue knew, and it would've given him more of an excuse for keeping me in the background—not that he needed an extra one…"

He frowned. "_Kurt_ doesn't know, though? Tina?"

"Nope and nope. They can be worrywarts, as you know. I'd thought about telling Artie, but he can't hide his wheelchair like I can hide my disease and I just thought things would get weird between us."

Sam started stroking her sides with his thumb again. "That's one of the reasons why your dad doesn't want you all the way in LA, isn't it?"

She nodded. "I'll be out there all alone with nobody to look after me, no doctors who know my history…" Mercedes' eyes began to tear. "And that was why I needed to be on that stage today, Sam. That was probably the last time I'd ever be on it, because I've turned in my acceptance to Cleveland State."

Sam squeezed her and kissed her temple. "I don't believe that."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to LA—he's right, you know. If I have a crisis out there, who's gonna be with me? I'm out there all alone…"

He held her tight, wishing he had encouraging words that would matter, but he didn't. Mercedes had worked so hard, and it didn't sit right in his spirit she was willing to play it safe instead of shoot for the stars.

And as much as he didn't want to ask this next question, he had to…if only to make a point. "What's the life expectancy of your…disease…?"

She didn't answer immediately, gripping his wrist tightly. "It's actually not that far off from people without it. You know T-Boz from TLC? She has the disease and she's in her forties."

She didn't answer the question to his satisfaction, but he wouldn't press her, mainly because he didn't think his heart could take it. Besides, they could die at any time—tomorrow wasn't promised, after all. "So, you'd rather do what's comfortable than go out and give it your all? That seems kinda off, doesn't it, for a someone who fought so hard to perform for a silly Nationals trophy nobody cares about outside of show choir and not for a Grammy that actually _means_ something in the real world?"

"Sam—"

"And you're gettin' that Grammy, Mercedes Jones, because I intend to marry you someday."

Mercedes dipped her head at that, and seconds later her body began shaking from the force of her laughter. Sam smiled and brought her closer, allowing her to twist her body so she faced him. Her adorable smile shone in his eyes and he cupped a soft, round cheek.

"Should I feel some kind of way that you're laughin' at me?"

"No…just that it's been a while since you've declared you're gonna marry me," she said sassily.

He shrugged. "You said 'after you win your first Grammy', so don't think I'mma let you off the hook from winnin' that thing."

"The fact you have ulterior motives for wanting me to succeed…"

"No, I don't," Sam said, affronted. "I want you to be _happy_, Mercedes, and I know gettin' a Grammy and havin' me as a husband are two things that'll make you happy."

Her smirk softened to a grin, and she pulled his head down to kiss his lips sweetly. Sam kept the contact light, knowing that despite her being completely under the covers as he still in his boxers and tank, deepening the kiss would be a risky thing to do.

"You still want me to try for LA even though that means I'll be all the way across the country?"

"Lady, stop tryna talk me out of makin' you make yourself happy."

"_You_ make me happy," Mercedes admitted. "I want _you_ to be happy too."

He couldn't help his shy grin, and he definitely tried. "I'm happy when you're happy, Mercedes; and I'll make you _happier_ as your husband, so—LA, Grammy, marriage."

She snorted out a laugh. "Just a few weeks ago, it was _boyfriend_."

Sam brushed imaginary dirt off his shoulder and went in for another kiss. "I gotta up my game along with you, Lady—"

They jerked apart as the hotel room's door opened to reveal Santana, Tina, and Quinn. Santana eyed them and sniffed the room, her face falling.

"You didn't have sex!"

"Your disappointment is disturbing," Mercedes said dryly.

Santana scowled and threw an extra blanket over Sam. "Cover up! Nobody wants to see that!"

Sam smirked. "You're a lyin' liar who lies—I've seen you check me out, Ms. Lopez."

Tina raised her hand without shame. "_I_ do like what I've seen, Mr. Evans, but I have my own Asian Greek god, _thank you_…"

The girls snickered at the redness creeping up Sam's chest, cheeks, and ears as he got dressed and kissed away Mercedes' pout.

"I gotta go if they're up here. Must mean the chaperones are on their way."

"Beiste," Quinn confirmed, and the door opened again, Sugar and Brittany entering now. They immediately climbed into bed, Sugar taking Sam's previous position and resting her head on Mercedes' chest. Brittany glared at the younger girl but got comfortable against Sugar's back.

"Rachel's trying to stall—" Brittany began.

"But Coach Beiste looks like she wants to deck her. She's incredibly vain," Sugar added, and not at all ironically, which made Sam bite his tongue against his own laugh. After grabbing his phone, Sam pressed a kiss to each girl's cheek, including a grimacing Santana's, and squeezed Quinn's shoulder.

"Take care of her?"

Quinn patted his hand and winked.

With a final wave to the ladies, Sam left the room, managing to get into the boys' room just as he heard Rachel, Coach Beiste, and Coach Sylvester coming down the hall. Groaning, he plopped onto the bed he shared with Artie and checked his phone. He had missed texts from Puck, Mike, and his dad, the latter asking how Mercedes was and if she were able to get her surprise. The tears he hadn't realized he'd been holding back started pricking his eyes as he pulled up his dad's cell number.

He could really use some of that famous Dwight Evans wisdom right about then.


	15. Calling Up and Out

**Title:** Calling Up and Out  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Harem  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E22  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes can't even enjoy her good news for five minutes...  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This is primarily centered around a prompt by amuzed1 from Tumblr, who wanted Kurtcedes angst. Please forgive lingering errors and enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Artie, I love you dearly; but if you don't stop <em>backseat gaming<em>, I'mma throw these controls at you!"

Immediately, the presence hovering behind Mercedes' right shoulder and ear disappeared, leaving her relaxed enough to finally blow Finn's man into smithereens.

"Yes!" Mike exclaimed from her left, and she slapped hands with him and Artie as all three of them performed victory shimmies. On the other side of the coffee table were a sullen Finn, Puck, and Sam, who glared at the television screen that looped a title card to start the next round. Instead of doing so, Sam grunted and shut off the appliance, and then fell back against the couch with a pout. Finn and Puck continued scowling at the blank screen.

Mercedes smirked.

"I should've known Artie was gonna call _you_ for reinforcements," Puck muttered, turning his gaze to the triumphant players now.

"But it's _guys'_ night—" Finn began.

"No, it's _game _night," Mike corrected. "It's not our fault you never considered invited any of the girls."

"We have this night to _get away from them_—" Finn tried to continue.

"No, you have this night to get away from _Rachel_…" Artie revealed. "And Kurt."

Mercedes pursed her lips, her eyes growing wide, and pretended she wasn't hearing any of this. That didn't stop her from snickering when Mike nudged her with his shoulder, and she gave him and Artie more high-fives.

"Sue's Kids rule!" she crowed, and her teammates whooped and hollered louder.

"Sue? As in Coach Sylvester?" Rory asked.

Artie nodded, chuckling. "Yeah, back during our freshman/sophomore year, Coach Sylvester was co-advisor like she was this year and took the coloreds, cripples, and queers for her own 'group'."

Mercedes, who'd been trying to drink a Sprite, almost choked on it at Artie's phrasing. Part of her knew she should chastise him for his diction, but it wasn't as if the boy was lying…

"And while I wouldn't have put it _like that_," Mike said, eyeing Artie, who shrugged without a lick of apology in his expression, "it did get really ugly between Schue and Coach. None of us had any interest in being pawns in their war."

"Team Sue, though," Mercedes said no remorse, and Artie held up his fist for her to bump.

"We had fun in there," Mike said with his own smile, and he even started singing "Hate on Me" by Jill Scott. Of course, he had to pull Mercedes up to dance with him, and she took over the chorus with Artie harmonizing. Joe and Rory cheered and clapped while Sam and Puck nodded encouragingly. Finn looked confused.

"Wait! _That_ was what you guys were singing?" he asked, breaking up the impromptu performance. "Mr. Schue said you were singing about hate!"

"Dear God, he is so White," Artie said on a mortified whisper.

"'Glee club, not crunk club', remember?" Mike added, and both Mercedes and Artie slapped their hands over their mouths that.

"_Dude_!" Puck exclaimed, right before he burst out laughing.

Mike shrugged. "I really didn't appreciate Rachel saying that…"

Mercedes said nothing, merely giving Mike a large hug.

"But _Mercedes_ wasn't right about what she said about white people getting funky," Finn replied.

"First of all, Mr. Schue didn't even use the right definition for Funk!" Mercedes said. "Second of all, even Quinn knew that rendition of 'It's a Man's, Man's World' was very _square_." She pantomimed drawing a box with her fingers. "But after about a week in my house and a Funk master class courtesy of my daddy, she figured it out." Then she cocked an eyebrow at Finn. "And _third_ of all—really, Finn? _Really_?"

"Really, really," Artie said, shaking his head in disappointment.

"But we didn't get the assignment right, either!" Finn reminded her.

"Actually, I do remember Mama asking if we _really_ want to perform 'Good Vibrations'—"

"We had to; we didn't have time to learn a new song, especially since Rachel refused to sing the chorus for us," Finn said with a scowl.

"Ew, Rachel on _that_ song? _For serious_?" Artie asked, shaking his head balefully.

"Yeah, in hindsight I realize that probably wouldn't have ended well…" Finn admitted, rubbing his temple as if his head hurt, but then he brightened. "But it was fun to perform, even if it wasn't 'funky'!"

"I supremely hope I'm not the only one lost right now," Sam said, and Rory and Joe raised their hands.

As Artie and Mike filled in the "newcomers", Mercedes' cell phone vibrated. An eyebrow rose when she saw it was Ms. Corcoran, so she went to the half-bath just off the kitchen for some privacy.

"Good evening, Ms. Corcoran," Mercedes greeted once she answered the phone.

"Mercedes," Ms. Corcoran drawled musically. "First off—congratulations again on your Nationals win! I'm still so proud of all of my Troubletone girls!"

Mercedes beamed. "Thank you, Ms. Corcoran…I'm not gonna lie—kinda wished we would've won as the Troubletones, just a little bit."

Ms. Corcoran laughed but diplomatically said nothing else to that. "Yes, well, the reason why I'm calling is because I have an old friend and colleague on the phone with me. Jupiter Knight, Mercedes Jones; Mercedes Jones, Jupiter Knight."

"Pleased to meet you, as it were," the melodious voice came through the earpiece. Mercedes frowned but returned the salutation, wondering what parents would name their child after that particular planet—then again, there were worse ones…like Uranus. She snickered even as she winced at adopting some of Sam's humor.

"So, I bet you're wondering who I am and why I'm calling, aren't you?" Ms. Corcoran's friend asked.

"Just slightly," Mercedes admitted on a chuckle.

Ms. Corcoran dominated the conversation initially, waxing poetic about Mercedes' talent and leadership with the Troubletones, and then Jupiter Knight waxed poetic about the "good old days" she and Ms. Corcoran had shared when they were in New York City together.

"In fact, Shelby here likes to keep me abreast of her favorite students; so when she sent me that video of you singing 'Disco Inferno' I practically _begged_ her to get me in touch with you. She made me wait until after your Nationals competition, though—which, again, congrats on winning!"

"Thank you," Mercedes said, still not quite understanding the point of the conversation; but the women were entertaining to listen to, so she didn't mind. Besides, she wasn't aware Ms. Corcoran would have even forwarded the video; Mercedes had sent it to her just to show her how her Troubletones had been getting along.

"But, I do have a request of you," Ms. Knight said. "I just…want to hear you live. Can you sing something for me? Anything?"

Mercedes froze, uncharacteristically nervous. Her gut was telling her there was something more to the query than mere curiosity. "Uh, I mean, I know the SWV song "Anything", but I don't think you'd want to hear that one…" she joked.

"Love that group—'90s R&B is my happy place—but you're right," Ms. Knight conceded. "_Hmm_…do you know the show _Porgy and Bess_? I just saw it in New York with Shelby about three weeks ago, with Audra McDonald as Bess—it was _fantastic_! I've had "Summertime" in my head since then. If you know it, can you sing that?"

Before Mercedes could answer, Ms. Corcoran scoffed. "Jupiter, this girl can sing just about _everything_. I've never had a student with such a knack for multiple styles and genres like Mercedes."

Mercedes felt herself flush at the generous praise, but she cleared her throat gently. "Ready?"

"On the edge of my seat!" Ms. Knight said, actually _squealed_.

Well aware she was still in the half-bath of a house that didn't belong to her, Mercedes started singing softly; but as usual, she became absorbed in the song so that by the time she ended, her voice bounced off the tiles in the bathroom so hard she almost believed she trembled from the reverberations. Mercedes hoped the guys had started another video game and couldn't hear her, but she didn't have time to worry about that between the applause and praise coming from the phone.

"_Tell me you're eighteen_!" Ms. Knight implored.

"Um, not until August; but I do graduate next week," Mercedes said, a thrill racing through her. Just saying so made it that much more real, that she was ending a chapter and about to start another.

"Well, that complicates matters; since I'd rather you come out to LA sooner rather than later—that is, if you're interested in signing with Jupiter Records…"

Mercedes was glad she was already sitting on the closed toilet, or else she would've collapsed from the sudden weakness in her knees. "What?"

"Girl, you…_will_ be a star—no ifs, ands, or buts about it!" Ms. Knight gushed. "I'd love the chance to be a part of that rise, if you'd let me. I'd start you on a contract to sing backup, because every star worth a damn has to know how to sing in every capacity. Backup lets you learn harmonies, how to listen to cues, how to be _humble_. Also—and this is a little-known secret—session work is _lucrative_. Right now, the record company primarily does jingles, commercials, and television theme songs as its bread and butter; but I have a few artists I'm trying to groom to be superstars. I'd love to groom you, Mercedes Jones."

"I…"

"I know I just dropped a lot of stuff in your lap," Ms. Knight continued. "But I'll forward information to you and Shelby, and then how about I set up a conference call with all of us and your parents in a few days? Mercedes—I hope you don't mind me calling you that—you're too talented to stop singing after graduation. I have no idea what your post-high school plans are or even if you've been accepted to college; but I'm even willing to draw up a contract where you're with the label but you can go to school. _That's_ how much I believe in you. I think education is important, but so is following your dreams. Just gotta be smart about it, right?"

"I told them that all the time, didn't I, Mercedes?" Ms. Corcoran said.

"Yes, ma'am," Mercedes murmured dazedly.

"All right," Ms. Knight said on a chuckle. "You're amazing—_amazing_!—and I can't wait to work with you—hopefully! It was a pleasure to talk to you, future Grammy-winner Mercedes Jones!"

Ms. Corcoran ended the call shortly thereafter, with her encouraging Mercedes to call her or Jupiter if she had any other questions or concerns and a trill of excitement on her former student's behalf. Mercedes' jaw was still dropped even as she stared at the periwinkle bathroom mat underneath her feet. It was truly incredible how life worked—how _God_ worked. Ever since returning from Nationals, Mercedes had been secretly looking up apartments and job listings in LA, making sure she had as much as she could have settled in place before breaking the news to her parents—her_ father_—that she was going to LA to try and make it in the music industry. Not even the fact she'd already agreed to attend Cleveland State, or her acceptance letter from NYU that had been waiting for her upon returning from Chicago—indicating she'd been bumped up from the waitlist—had swayed her from that decision. And now, with this record deal offer in her back pocket, Mercedes felt even more comfortable and confident about it.

She cackled at her coup.

"Mercedes? Are you all right?"

She pursed her lips, but giggles still bubbled forth; and she took another minute to collect herself. After flushing the toilet out of habit and washing her hands, Mercedes whispered hello to a waiting Blaine and returned to the living area. All eyes were upon her—including Rachel's and Kurt's—and she waved hello.

"Oh, so you just gonna act like you weren't killing us softly in the bathroom just now?" Artie asked.

Mercedes frowned and started to return to her previous seat, but Sam grabbed her and yanked her into his lap, his lips finding a home in the crook of her neck.

She jerked back, still not exactly comfortable with such obvious displays of romantic affection in front of an audience. "Boy—!"

"I mean, can you blame us, sounding like an angel like that?" Joe said, grinning and blushing at her. "Clearly we must have all died—!"

"You _rude_, 'Cedes, hiding in there so we can't hear you properly," Artie interrupted, shaking his head. "You know how much I'm gonna _miss your voice_ next year?"

Mercedes pulled a face. "I didn't mean to be so loud—"

"Uh, I don't know about anybody else, but I'd never turn down a Mercedes Jones performance," Mike said, raising his hand. Everyone else in the living room followed suit, and Mercedes laughed, dropping her face in her hands. Artie started begging her to stay at McKinley just for him, and she pouted and squeezed Artie's hand, laughing when he hummed and kissed her knuckles. The body beneath hers vibrated with a grunt.

"Samson."

"Artie thinks he's slick; I'm just lettin' him know he ain't."

Ignoring Sam, Artie started trailing his kisses up the inside of her wrist and arm and Mercedes giggled, wrenching her hand from him and slapping him gently on the shoulder with the back of her hand.

"Quit playin'!" she reprimanded lightly.

"What?" Artie cried, affronted. "You were my wife before we even knew a Sam Evans existed! _You_ don't play!"

"Which is why you dated Tina, and then Brittany, even though I was free as a bird?" Mercedes challenged amid whoops.

"Musical wife," Artie quickly amended. "But don't think I didn't think about it!"

"Too much thinkin', not enough doin', so thanks for that!" Sam said with a cheeky grin, holding Mercedes closer to him and kissing her cheek.

"Who were you talking to?" Sam asked her privately, his lips brushing her ear.

She beamed at him. "I'll tell you later…"

Kurt plopped down on the cushion where Mercedes would've sat had Sam not interfered and grinned. "So…" he crossed his legs and arched a brow. "I heard about NYU…" He then frowned a little. "Why didn't _you_ say anything? You've known since we got back from Chicago! My dad had to hear it from _your_ dad!"

Mercedes raised her eyebrows, mildly irritated at her father's loose lips, and shrugged. "Nothing to tell since I'm not going."

Both Kurt's and Rachel's faces fell. "What? Mercedes! It's _NYU_! New York! Why would you give that up to go to _Cleveland State_—?" Rachel began.

"And we can all share an apartment when Rachel and I get into NYADA—"

"Kurt, when have I _ever_ expressed interest in living in New York?"

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, then frowned and pursed his lips. "Wait—you don't?"

"I mean, I like the city well enough, but it's expensive and _cold_ and for _once_ I'd like a winter where I don't see snow on the ground," Mercedes answered with a shrug.

"So, then why Cleveland State?" Rachel asked. "It snows in Cleveland—and its musical department isn't renowned at all."

Mercedes rolled her eyes, unwilling to reveal the main reason why she'd chosen such a local school. Sam squeezed her and kissed her shoulder, his gaze supportive and proud.

"Are you staying because of _Sam_?" Rachel asked next, eyeing the blond. "Look, Mercedes—if it's true love, you'll be able to withstand the distance! But don't put your future on hold because of it!"

The sudden, still silence roared in Mercedes' ears.

"Um, no," Sam said after a moment, glowering first at Rachel, then at Finn. "Dude, _no_."

"You mean the same way you rushed into an engagement because you thought you weren't getting a NYADA audition?" Mercedes snapped, standing from Sam's lap and crossing her arms at her chest. Kurt immediately stood, holding his arms apart to keep the girls separate.

Rachel gasped. "Mercedes—!"

"What are you gonna do if you _still_ don't get in—even after the entire glee club constructed its Nationals set list all around _you_ after Tina—who was completely in the right telling you off that day—_aided and abetted _you in stalking poor Carmen Tibideaux to convince her to show up there because _you_ choked on _your_ audition? Are you gonna elope? Get knocked up? _What_?"

Rachel's mouth opened and closed as if she were a fish gasping for breath, then her face started to crumple with the force of her tears.

"That's really mean, Mercedes," Kurt said on a whisper, pulling Rachel into a hug; and Mercedes stepped back to allow Finn to pass, ignoring his glare. "I'm disappointed in you."

"You know what? A year ago, that would've gutted me," Mercedes said, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Now, it's merely a pinch in my heart."

Kurt frowned harder at her. "Mercedes—what—?"

Shaking her head, Mercedes hunted for her belongings, needing to get out of there before she said things she wouldn't regret or take back. She kissed Mike and Artie on the cheek and closed her eyes at Sam's buss to her forehead, trying desperately to keep her tears from spilling. How quickly her euphoria from Ms. Corcoran's call turned into hurt at this unexpected argument.

"Mercedes!" Kurt grasped her elbow, and she jerked it out of his hold. He leaned back, his blue eyes pained, but she shook her head.

"For the sake of whatever friendship we have left, you need to let me leave," she told him softly.

"No, it seems we need to _talk_!" Kurt insisted. "Please?"

Mercedes didn't say anything, merely walked around the couch and out the front door. Kurt followed, giving her enough space to drop her things in her father's Tahoe, then went around to the back bumper and sat on it. Mercedes paced in front of him, feeling the onset of a headache.

"What did you mean by that?" Kurt asked. "'Whatever friendship we have left'?"

"Kurt—why do you want to be on Broadway?" Mercedes asked. "Since tenth grade, you were talking about meeting your fairy god-maven André Leon Talley; and suddenly, you want to be the next Neil Patrick Harris?"

Kurt shrugged. "Well, um, Rachel—"

"Wrong answer!" Mercedes cut him off, glaring at him. "I said _you_! I guess because Rachel's always on and off with Finn she was always around, so you two formed a separate friendship—I get it; but this sacrificing _your_ actual dreams because of _whatever_ with her, and then wanting me to do the same damn thing for _you_ that you're doing for Rachel Berry—no. _No_." Mercedes took a deep breath. "You know why I'm not going to New York? Because I'm going to LA."

Kurt gaped at her. "LA!" he all but screeched. "What's in LA?"

"Opportunity," Mercedes said simply. "And _not_ Rachel!"

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "You know what, Mercedes? This petty jealousy you have of her—"

"Hell no! Get off my truck; I'm going home," Mercedes ordered, snapping her fingers and making an up motion with her thumb. Kurt cocked an eyebrow and crossed one knee over the other, resting his hands atop them.

"I'm serious, Mercedes! It's that jealousy that cost you the Maria role, after all; and then you started the Troubletones and failed—and you can't even blame Rachel for that one. And as for the solo at Nationals, Mr. Schue was always going to give it to her and everyone knew that—"

"And there you were, my _former_ best friend, standing there and judging me instead of supporting me, and acting confused about why I was so frustrated over _everything_!" Mercedes said, cursing the way her voice wobbled and the tears that started to sting her eyes again.

Kurt jerked as if he'd been slapped, then stood, his entire demeanor broken. "Former?"

Mercedes' laugh was ugly and unforgiving. "Don't stand there all shocked—or did you miss the first breakdown, the one after Sectionals?" She huffed and scoffed. "Of course. You just thought was salty about the loss, even though I told you flat-out I felt as if you and Quinn had abandoned me. But at least Quinn actually puts in _effort_ to reestablish our friendship. After that weekend; I didn't see or hear boo from you until our forced rehearsals for that Christmas extravaganza!"

"Well, NYADA—"

"Right, NYADA," Mercedes muttered. "And before then, it was the elections, in which Rachel first ran against you, then _cheated_ on your behalf, and probably would've let you take the fall if not for her rare moments of unselfishness—"

"Mercedes—"

"Like that time when you asked _her_ to help you audition for Tony; and instead, she laughed in your face while she did so!" Mercedes took a deep breath, her hand going to her temple to stave off the oncoming pounding in her head. "Just to be clear—did I, Tina, or Brittany ever laugh at you when you tried to go for something?"

Kurt's shoulders sagged and he shook his head.

"And which audition went better?" Mercedes challenged.

"The NYADA one," Kurt mumbled.

"Yep; and had you stuck with letting Tina help you, or asked us earlier, I bet that audition would've gone even better," Mercedes said. "In fact, if you'd had even clued me in on your college application process, I would've told you how _extremely_ bad of an idea it was to put all of your eggs in one basket; but you were in Rachel and Blaine land sippin' on hubris and wouldn't listen to me."

"You quit glee!" Kurt accused.

"So? I was still in the school! I still had some same classes as you! And also—_Schue kicked me out_!" Mercedes corrected. "For _finally_ standing up for myself and calling him out on how he's favored Rachel at the expense of _everyone_—but especially me!"

Kurt blanched, but found his voice once more. "I didn't hear you say anything during Tina's outburst."

"One—nobody threatened kicking Tina out of glee; two—I wasn't going to take away her moment to vent; and three—she and I had a long talk that evening about it. I even cautioned her about going too far, or else someone may come in next year and steal the spotlight from her, because we all know Schue can carry a grudge like a damn torch. Of all of us, Tina's _more_ than due."

Kurt squinted, looking off into the darkened horizon, his hand sliding over his mouth as he also took a deep breath. His eyes swimming with tears, he then stared at her for a long moment before letting out a watery laugh.

"All my plans…everything I imagined…do you know you were never _not_ in them?"

Mercedes blinked, then looked off and shrugged, wrapping her arms around her. "I didn't think you cared anymore one way or the other, honestly."

"Damn," Kurt said, still chuckling sadly. "I imagined you and me on the couch watching the latest episode of _What Not to Wear_ or _Say Yes to the Dress_ while Rachel railed on about some ingénue trying to take 'her' spotlight, and both of us giving each other looks at her dramatics in between judging the tragic outfits and dresses." He wiped his cheeks. "And then, we'd all wake up to you singing some Chaka or Patti because there's nothing like a good diva anthem in the morning as you make your bagel breakfast and rush out to an eight am class at NYU, wishing us both luck for a workshop here or a master class there. And then every Wednesday evening or whatever, Rachel and I would cheer you on during whatever Open Mike Night was going on, knowing you'd win the pot because you are _amazing_ and that'll give us extra money to splurge on a cheesecake or something—"

"Vegan cheesecake," Mercedes muttered, a corner of her mouth lifting. "For Rachel."

Kurt's smile was tight. "She can get her own damn cheesecake."

Mercedes threw her head back and laughed, cheering slightly when Kurt joined in. When she calmed, she was surprised to see Kurt crying fully now.

"I imagined that laugh while you're on the phone or on Skype talking to Sam…walking down Madison Avenue and buying all the couture things in our heads until we actually have the money to get them for real—"

"Custom," Mercedes said. "I'm too short and thick for actual window shopping."

"Custom…by _me_—God, Mercedes!" he sank back down on the bumper. "Wow…_wow_…how did I get so turned around?"

"You didn't get turned around," Mercedes said on a sigh, coming to the truck and sitting next to him. "You got dazzled by the Great White Way. You snuck onto that stage and became captivated by a possible life—and we were in New York and amped up. I don't begrudge your change in focus; what I didn't like was your blind spot to your _other_ strengths. You don't need Rachel's coattails when you can soar on your own, Kurt."

She grinned when she felt his arms wrap around her shoulders, his chin resting on her collarbone. "I love you _so much_, Mercedes. _So much_. It's just…you're always so strong, and Rachel was very vulnerable and she seemed to _need me_."

"And yet when _you_ need someone, _really _need someone, who do you call?"

He didn't answer immediately. "You."

Mercedes nodded. "And when _I_ need someone—_really_ need someone, who can I call?"

"Me—"

"Only to tell me you're out doing something with Rachel or Blaine or both. Like tonight—where were you?"

"Rachel asked me to go shopping with her for a graduation dress; Blaine had a Warbler thing—"

"_You_ were a Warbler. Why didn't you go with him?"

Again, Kurt had no answer, and he rested his head fully on her shoulder. "Wow."

"Yep."

They sat silently, letting the night sounds fill the air instead of their words. Eventually, Mercedes leaned her head against Kurt's and he squeezed his arms about her.

"Who's your best friend now?" Kurt asked after a moment.

Mercedes started shaking her head. "Nope—"

"Okay, _fine_," Kurt said on a huff. "I guess I don't deserve to ask that."

"You _did_ ask that," Mercedes reminded him. "I'm just not answering it."

Kurt sighed, then pulled back with a frown. "If I _wasn't_ your best friend, why did you help me out with my audition?"

Mercedes arched an eyebrow. "Why are you putting Rachel's brand of friendship on me?"

Kurt winced. "That's harsh."

"That's _truth_," Mercedes said. "Look, I wish Rachel well, I really do; but if I want to be able to like her in the future, I need an entire continent between us right now, okay?"

"You love her, Mercedes."

She pulled a face and sighed. "Yeah, but she's like that cousin that _wears on your nerves_; and while I have her back, that doesn't mean I'm giving her full access to mine!" Mercedes cracked.

Kurt snickered and sat up straighter. "_If_…and I'm hoping this is a large and unlikely _if_…I don't get into NYADA, will you save a couch for me in LA?"

"Kurt Hummel willingly sleeping on a couch?" Mercedes teased, then chuckled at his exaggerated pout. "_If_…and I'm _also_ hoping that's a large and unlikely _if_…you don't get in; how about we try looking for a two-bedroom." Mercedes paused. "Actually, a three-bedroom; I was going to ask Puck if he wanted to be roomies if he's still going to LA."

"He has to graduate first," Kurt reminded her.

"Oh, he _will_," Mercedes said confidently. "Leave no man behind and all that—"

"Hey, Mercedes! Is there a body we need to hide?"

Mercedes and Kurt looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

"Artie, not cool, man!" they heard Finn chastise.

"I'm just sayin'," Artie defended, his voice growing louder until they saw him come around the back of her truck. His face fell slightly. "Damn, and no black eyes or nothin'…"

"I am not violent," Mercedes insisted.

"True; you're a vandal," Kurt teased, and Mercedes playfully shoved him off her bumper so he'd stand.

"Are you two okay?"

Mike and Sam appeared now, and Sam had asked the question. His eyes flit to Kurt before settling on Mercedes, his hands stuffed in his front jeans pockets. Smiling slightly, Mercedes nodded and stood, but stopped short when Rachel appeared from behind them.

"Mercedes—"

"If you came out here expecting me to apologize and then hug it out, you might as well march right back in that house," Mercedes said firmly.

Rachel dropped her head, but peered at Mercedes through her lashes. "No, I don't expect you to apologize."

Mercedes arched a skeptical eyebrow.

"I just…I want to know if you hate me."

Mercedes chuckled dryly. "Didn't you hear? According to your other boyfriend St. James, I'm _lazy_; quite frankly, it's more exhausting to actively hate you."

Rachel pulled a face. "That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

"Neither does you considering me a friend only when I'm not a threat," Mercedes said baldly. "I'm surprised you didn't send _me_ to a crack house that first year."

"Shots fired!" Artie muttered.

"Oh, c'mon Mercedes—!" Finn began, but Rachel held up a hand.

"I'm sorry, Mercedes."

"Don't be sorry," Mercedes said. "Your 'sorry' doesn't interest me in the slightest—especially when you only say it _after_ you've gotten whatever it is you wanted in the first place." She then shrugged and placed a hand over her heart. "What _I_ want is to be able to go to LA without worrying if Kurt's gonna snap and shank you because you weaseled a role or a solo out from under him at NYADA—" Mercedes paused, raising eyebrows at Rachel's indignant sputtering. "Senior class elections, Rachel, and that's just one of _many_ receipts I have of that particular M.O. of yours."

"Shanking is bloody. I'd probably poison her," Kurt said blithely.

Rachel's face crumpled again, but this time it was from laughter. Mercedes joined her, and soon everyone else did as well.

"You know I'm serious, right," Kurt asked once the laughter died down.

"Yes, _yes_," Rachel said, nodding to Kurt but approaching Mercedes. Mercedes eyed her warily, her pose defensive. "Mercedes, you're just as talented as I am—"

"Baby, you've _never_ been my standard for talent," Mercedes interrupted, though not as unkindly as it probably sounded. "But there's got to be space for a fat, black girl with a big voice to shine; because it's certainly not Lima, Ohio—God bless Unique!"

Rachel frowned. "You're beautiful, Mercedes."

"Uh, when in this conversation did I say I _wasn't_?" she asked, and Rachel turned red under the stark streetlight.

"I'm messing this all up, aren't I?"

"Yep; and that's because it's not genuine," Mercedes said, and then she sighed. "Look, Rachel, I want you to succeed—hell, after all the sacrificing New Directions has done for you, your ass _better_ get into NYADA! I just hope you learn how to do it without sabotaging other people. Your success shouldn't have to come at the expense of someone else's demise; and you won't get everything you want when you want it. Just do _your_ best and understand some days, that's just not good enough."

Rachel started to say something else, but then she just smiled tightly and grabbed Finn's hand to lead him back to the house. Mercedes groaned, her eyes shooting to the streetlight overhead, and sat back on her bumper again. Kurt returned to her right side and Mike sat to the left of the bumper. Sam stood before her for a second, then knelt before her, bracing himself on her knees.

"She's gonna be eaten alive at NYADA if she gets in," Artie predicted.

"I think she'll be the better for it if and when she does," Mercedes said. "There are gonna be _tons_ of Rachels at that school—"

"Stop making me hope I _don't _get in," Kurt mumbled.

"Hey, she's your best friend, isn't she?" Mercedes asked, patting his shoulder.

"She's my _closest_ friend; that doesn't make her my _best_ one," Kurt said, staring intently at her.

Mercedes gave a small smile at that before regarding Mike and Artie. "You guys out?"

"Yeah. Wanted to say goodbye—"

"And help you hide the body," Artie reiterated over Mike.

"You really thought she was going to kill me?" Kurt asked.

"Team Mercedes," Artie declared bluntly.

Sam and Mike shrugged as they agreed.

"Samson Evans! After I opened up my home to you?" Kurt asked on a gasp.

"Yes, but Mercedes is my heart, and I've lived without a home before so…"

Mercedes squeezed Sam's hands as she stood again and he followed, drawing her into an embrace. The solid beat of his heart underneath her chin steadied her, as did the comforting squeeze he gave. She pulled back a little, bit her lip, then pressed a quick kiss to Sam's mouth, blushing when he smiled into it.

"Christmas in June," he murmured against her mouth, then chuckled. "Christmas anytime you kiss me, lady."

Mercedes' cheeks remained heated even after Artie and Mike gave her goodbye kisses on them. Sam took Mike's former space and she sat again with two of her dearest boys on either side of her. Sam had his arm around her waist while Kurt had his around her shoulders. She felt secure and steady, grounded. She bookmarked it in her mind for those times in LA when she might feel overwhelmed.

"You'll be amazing in LA," Kurt said after a moment. "And if anyone can handle being across the country and possibly by herself, it's you, Mercedes."

"She won't be alone," Sam insisted, kissing Mercedes' temple. "Skype every day; phone calls, Facebook…" He pressed an index finger to her heart. "I'm there, aren't I?"

She clasped that finger to her chest and nodded. "Of course you are—you _all_ are…even Rachel, dammit," Mercedes teased, and her boys chuckled. She then tangled her fingers with Sam's, the record deal offer burning her tongue, but she kept silent. Mercedes had to convince her parents to let her sign first; otherwise, there was no news to tell. But Sam would be the first person she told—without that video, who knew how long it would have taken her to catch a record exec's ear and eye?

"All right, boys, I have to go home. I still have a curfew and it's a school night," Mercedes said, then snickered, "even though finals have already happened for us seniors."

"Still, I don't want you in trouble with Mom and Pop Jones," Sam said, standing and pulling her to her feet.

Kurt spun her around and held her tightly. "I love you."

"I love you too. I want everything for you Kurt, you know that," Mercedes said, breathing deeply against him.

"I want you in my life forever, Mercedes," he said sincerely, pulling back and framing her face. "I'm pretty sure Rachel'll want us to open our letters together; but as soon as I know something, I'll tell you, okay?"

"You killed that audition," Mercedes said confidently. "I expect triumphant hugs and kisses."

Kurt beamed and kissed her cheek, mouthing "I love you" one last time before leaving her alone with Sam.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Honestly, I think you went easy on them," he said after a moment.

"They got the point, I hope."

Sam held her tighter, sighing. "I'm glad you're going to LA, as much as I am sad about it."

"But you're going with me, remember?" Mercedes asked, drawing up one of his hands to place over her heart.

She felt his smile against the back of her head.


	16. Just Right

**Title:** Just Right  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S2E22  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It'll take a while for Sam and Mercedes to settle into effortless romance, but Sam thinks it'll be worth it.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This is another flashback vignette, to the beginning of that first June. Please forgive lingering errors and enjoy!

* * *

><p>Mercedes was the first virgin Sam had ever dated; and by that, he meant the first girl for whom he was the first boyfriend ever. Because of this, he realized how much he'd leaned on experienced girls to help guide him—especially the most recent examples of Quinn and Santana. They were strong girls; they knew what they wanted and what they wanted of him, and they weren't afraid to tell him. Repeatedly. And sometimes not so nicely. But Mercedes, for all of her strength and confidence in glee or in school in general, was certainly out of her element when it was the two of them alone. The ease they'd had before they'd decided to become romantic had all but disappeared; and more often than not, Sam would catch her looking at him askance before smoothing her face into a quick smile and averting her eyes.<p>

It was those times Sam wished he hadn't agreed to the secret relationship with her. He needed advice, but couldn't go to anyone to get it. He was frustrated they could go from cuddles and tickle fights as friends to barely a handhold in public (when no one they knew was around) and almost _no kisses_ at all. That the last kiss they'd shared had happened two weeks ago in a New York alleyway was completely unacceptable to him. His lips still tingled with the sensation of hers upon them, those thick, soft lips that begged to be licked and nibbled.

Hell, her whole body did.

Sam groaned and shoved the thought from his mind. He was still at work, even if it were a slow day; it wouldn't do to think of his incredible girlfriend and get a hard-on because of it.

But God clearly had other plans for him, because in she walked behind his two rambunctious siblings, shaking her head with fond exasperation at the two. Sam quickly moved from behind the counter to scoop up Stacy, who'd launched herself toward him. She squeezed his neck tightly and Sam laughed, returning her exuberant hug just as firmly. He settled her onto his hip and did a complicated handshake with Stevie before bringing the younger boy to his side. Mercedes, still smiling, took off the strap of her purse and set the accessory down in one of the waiting chairs.

"Sam," she greeted.

"That's it?" Sam teased, looking at Stevie and Stacy aghast. "My siblings show me all this love and you just say, 'Sam'?"

The younger kids giggled at his impression of Mercedes, and the older girl rolled her eyes. "Boy, please. What I look like jumping into your arms or doing a handshake even Artie would need a manual to learn?"

"Well, Artie taught it to me…and he may or may not have had a print-out in his lap while he did," Sam joked. "As for you jumping into my arms, you know I'd catch you…"

And just like that, Mercedes shifted her gaze and snuck her bottom lip between her teeth. After a moment, she apparently found her equilibrium and rolled her eyes again with a tiny smirk. "Anyway, can we make an order?"

Sam smirked in return, kissing Stacy's cheek to her delighted squeal and set the young girl on her feet. She ran back to Mercedes and hugged her ample waist, and Mercedes squeezed her close. Sam tried not to be jealous of his little sister.

"Anything you want," Sam said, his voice dropping an unnecessary octave. Mercedes' eyes widened slightly and avoided his gaze again, worrying her fingers, but Sam saw the apples of her cheeks grow.

They ordered a simple, large pepperoni pizza, but Sam did an internal robot when Mercedes hung out at the counter, leaving his siblings to entertain themselves with the video arcade game near the entrance. Because the pizza place was primarily delivery and carryout, it was a small space, allowing the teens to keep an eye on them while stealing some privacy for themselves.

"I like your hair," Sam said, reaching out and brushing a swoop from her forehead, since she was now severe-bang free. Her eyes fluttered closed as he'd let his fingers linger, tracing a scar he'd noticed several times before but never mentioned.

"What happened here?" he asked, now using that trump card to keep touching her without making her jumpy.

"My brother and I were fighting and he hit me with one of his baseball cleats," she said on a dry laugh.

"Are you _serious_?" Sam asked, gaping at her.

Mercedes laughed stronger. "Yeah. I'd always been a chubby girl, so we were fighting for the Gameboy and he'd gotten it fair and square, but I got so mad that I sat on him and wouldn't get up. So he hit me with the shoe. It was a mess—I was bleeding everywhere—but if our parents had found out how it'd _really _happened, we'd _both_ would've been in trouble, so the story's been I tripped on the carpet and hit my head against the doorframe. I wasn't the most graceful child…"

His chuckle was humor and sympathy in one, and he started forward to kiss her, feeling bereft when she jerked back and shook her head.

"Your siblings," Mercedes reminded him.

Sam pursed his lips and felt relief when the signal went off on the oven.

When he returned with the pizza, he made sure to brush his fingers against hers, and hers quirked at the contact.

"I want to see you later," he said.

Mercedes looked pained and embarrassed. "I have a really early curfew—"

"What time?"

"Ten."

He blinked in surprise. That _was_ very early, especially for someone who would be a senior next year; but she was still sixteen, so Sam supposed that wasn't too bad. Then again, she'd never had a boyfriend and he didn't remember seeing her out and about when it wasn't glee-related. Sam smiled gently at her and nodded.

"That's fine. I'll have you home by ten; we can probably still hang out there."

"And do what?" Mercedes sassed.

"Well…you can sit on me if you want," he murmured with a casual shrug. "You can even lie on me…snuggle me…"

She was looking at the pizza box, her hands gripping the sides so hard the cardboard started to fold underneath her hold; but Sam saw those apple cheeks again, and he snuck in a stroke of them with his thumb. She looked up at him shyly, but with a hint of fire in her brown depths, and Sam reared back so he would slam his mouth against hers.

"See you later, Sam," she said, her voice more breathless than it should've been for a simple goodbye, and Sam fist pumped the air once she and his siblings had pulled out of the lot.

Sam's eyebrows rose when he spotted Mercedes' car still in the hotel parking lot right next to the family truck. He took the stairs up two at a time to the hotel room, and managed a grin at the sight of his siblings cuddled into her on one bed and his parents snuggled together on the other. They were watching _Angels in the Outfield_ on television and it was toward the middle of the movie.

"Sammy!" his dad called, throwing up a hand and waving. His mother winked and pointed to the pizza box.

"Although I'm sure you'd rather not, there is another slice in there. Mercedes didn't want it," Mary Evans said.

"Oh, yeah, not really. We're hanging out tonight; aren't we, Mercedes?"

She pinned his with a slight glare but straightened her face to smile brightly at his parents. "Yeah, I think we're going to try and round up some glee kids and make a fun night of it."

Dwight nodded. "Good. I'm glad you're forcing Sam to have some fun. All work and no play makes Sammy surly."

"Thanks, Dad," Sam deadpanned.

"We can't have him surly, though," Mercedes said with an exaggerated pout. "That cute, baby face doesn't look right with a scowl."

"You think I'm cute," Sam repeated, a dopey smile replacing his sullen expression.

"Oh, please, of course you're cute," Mercedes said nonchalantly, but she didn't look at him in favor of tickling an openly curious Stacy. "But not as cute as these two!"

"I'd be offended if you weren't right," Sam said on a laugh, ignoring the pointed gazes of his parents.

"Sammy! Mercedes thinks I'm cute! We're gonna get married!" Stevie boasted.

"You're not that cute," Sam said flatly, and this time both of his parents burst out laughing.

"I think you better hurry and change before Stevie here puts a Ring Pop on it," Dwight said on lingering chuckles.

Sam heeded his father's advice post-haste. Dwight might have thought it was a joke; but that was how Puck pulled Lauren Zizes, so he'd leave nothing to chance.

An hour later, Sam and Mercedes were at a state park about thirty miles south of Lima, where the largest inland lake in the state was. They'd taken her car because it got better gas mileage and there was an mp3 auxiliary hookup; at least that was what Mercedes said. Sam knew it was to help him conserve precious gas since the prices were stupid ridiculous and he couldn't properly explain a sixty-dollar gas tank away if they were remaining in town. They hadn't talked much during the drive down, other than Sam giving her directions (she'd allowed him to surprise her with their destination, making Sam's insides bloom with warmth that she trusted him enough for it). Even when they'd crossed city limits, the most Mercedes had done was raise her eyebrows and the volume up on her Motown playlist (even though it was heavy on the Aretha, the Otis, and the Reverend). Sam had been content listening to her sing, thinking back to the very first time he'd ever heard her voice and being blown away by it. "Empire State of Mind" had merely scratched the surface of it, he'd learn over the course of his time in glee; and just listening to her on the drive had made him wonder he didn't even know half of the extent of her talent.

It wasn't the prettiest of picnics they'd had, but Mercedes seemed pleased by it all the same. Instead of a woven picnic basket, there were ordinary paper bags from the pizzeria filled with subs and salads. Mercedes had carried the food and drinks to the campsite while Sam handled the blankets, lantern, and Mercedes' portable music dock for her mp3 player. After they set up their site, Sam held out his hand for her to hold. She did with a slight smile and they walked around the campsite's lagoon.

He stared at her more than at where they were going, and she would meet his eyes briefly. The tiny smile rarely left her face, but he stopped and tugged on her hand to get her to do the same.

"Mercedes?"

"Yes?" she asked, peering up at him. Her lip was between her teeth again, distracting him from what he wanted to say. He groaned a little and bent down to steal the lip for his own. Mercedes gasped, freeing it, and Sam kissed the swollen area lightly. He felt her tremble, and he held her arms with gentle hands.

"Want to head back?" he asked, making sure their lips brushed. "I'm kinda hungry."

"Uh, sure," she whispered, licking her lips and gazing at him with a dazed expression. Sam gave her a lopsided grin and wrapped his arm around her waist, squeezing her when she shivered a little at the contact.

Dinner was light and full of Sam cracking jokes and impressions that almost made Mercedes choke from laughter. He liked making her laugh because she laughed with her whole body. It was like seeing joy in action, and he felt proud and a little humbled he could bring that reaction out of her. After they ate, Mercedes cleaned up the area, telling him to sit when he'd even attempted to help. He took the opportunity to pop a peppermint in his mouth and palmed one in his hands until she returned. She thanked him with a sweet smile and sucked on hers as well.

He reclined on his elbow while she sat straight tailor-style, her gaze serene across the lagoon. The sun was starting to set, casting its amber rays about them, and making her dark skin glow. He was glad she'd changed into a sleeveless summer dress, for it gave him access to more skin than ever. Unable to ignore the call, he allowed a finger to drift from her shoulder to her elbow, a brow quirking at the fierce jump she gave at the contact.

Her laugh was shrill and she rubbed her arm. "I thought it was a bug."

He frowned. "A bug?"

"Yeah, um, we _are_ outside…there are _bugs_ and _creepy crawlies_ outside…"

Sam laughed, the sound ringing about them, and laughed harder when she sucked her teeth and slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand.

"So I'm a creepy crawly now?"

"Yes!" she insisted, and huffed turning her face away. "A bugaboo!"

"I thought those were the same things as bogeymans."

"That's not what Destiny's Child said!"

Sam rolled his eyes but sat up, trying not to let his irritation show. "So, I'm a bug, a bogeyman, or a really annoying dude because I want to touch my girlfriend?"

Mercedes' chuckles abruptly stopped and she goggled at him. "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, we _are_ dating, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm your girlfriend, does it?"

The doubt and confusion in her voice drew Sam's brows together. He looked at her while she played with her fingers in her lap, paying attention to how quickly her chest rose and fell with her breaths. Sam wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans.

"I've considered you my girlfriend ever since you agreed to go out with me."

She regarded him with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Was I not supposed to?"

Mercedes shrugged. "Not to be mean, but you change girlfriends as quickly as you change socks. I didn't want to put a label on us, especially with your family life so unstable. You don't have to consider me your girlfriend—"

"I'm Goldilocks and you're just right, Mercedes."

She pulled a face at him and then exploded with giggles, the genuine giggles that made her body shake. Sam took pleasure in her laughter and used the opportunity to slide his body behind her. Her laughter got tangled in her throat as her body froze, but Sam slid his legs along the outside of her short ones and pressed his chest against her back.

"See?" he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder, his breath disturbing the tendrils of hair along her ear. "Just right."

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes slightly glassy, but her smile was unsure. "For how long?"

He shrugged and pushed the envelope by settling his hands low on her hips. She sucked in a sharp breath and froze again, but recovered much more quickly this time and even settled her small hands atop his. He smiled widely at her, and her grin grew. Emboldened by her reaction, Sam tipped his smiling mouth to her bare shoulder, nuzzling it at her soft sigh.

"However long you let me," he whispered against her neck, wondering why she tasted of peppermint on her neck but not the least bit bothered she did. "I kinda hope it's for a long time…"

He pecked her mouth, grunting at the stronger peppermint taste on her lips, and used his tongue to swipe up more before he could check himself. Mercedes let out a garbled sound and he pulled away carefully, brushing his nose against hers as he did.

"I'm sorry," he said even as he wrapped his arms fully around her. "I mean, I'm sorry I'm not sorry for kissing you like that."

"You're not?"

"Mercedes," he said, laughing though nothing about this was humorous. "Are you afraid of me or something? Boyfriends and girlfriends kiss. People who date kiss. I _want_ to kiss you…"

"Puck didn't, not really," Mercedes mumbled.

"Puck is a wimp for all his bluster," Sam cracked, but he arched an eyebrow. "He's also very respectful to girls he likes, and he liked you a lot, Mercedes."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right!"

"Who joins a church of a faith not his and learns a song just to woo someone he doesn't like? The only other person he's worked that hard for is currently his girlfriend, I may remind you," Sam reminded her.

Mercedes paused, frowned, then shook her head again. "He only wanted to date me because I was popular and he needed to get his mojo back." She looked at Sam. "I'm not popular, now; but when Quinn was at her lowest, she did decide to befriend me, so maybe you're doing the sa—?"

Sam cut off the rest of her damn-near offensive statement by kissing her again, more assertively than he ever had. He allowed his tongue to tease the seam of her lips; and at her gasp, he eased his tongue inside. Both of them shuddered at the first contact of tongues, and he tightened his hold on her, relishing in her soft plushness as he kissed all of his feelings into her.

"God, I could kiss you forever," he whispered into her mouth, squeezing her. "You feel so good, lady…"

He kissed her again, not having nearly enough of her mouth and lips and tongue. He allowed his hands to begin a caress along her belly, chuckling lowly at her gasps and mews of pleasure. She broke the kiss with a large intake of breath, sagging against his solid frame. Sam, still smiling, smoothed his lips along her cheek and nose until it found her scar, and he kissed it tenderly.

"Sam…"

He let his mouth travel along her forehead. "Hmm?"

"Your mouth tastes like peppermint cherries…"

He snickered and pulled back, looking at her coyly. "I had on cherry Chapstick earlier."

Her smile was slow and amused. "I like it."

He kissed her smiling mouth softly. "I like you. A lot."

"I can't make you popular," she said, as if in warning.

"Maybe not, but you make me happy."

Mercedes abruptly looked away at that, and Sam's face fell. He was always quick on the trigger with declarations like that, but he wouldn't lie to Mercedes, either. Sighing internally, Sam squeezed her shoulder in apology.

"I'm all right…"

Her voice was thick, and Sam coaxed her to face him again. His heart clenched at the sight of her tears, and he brushed one away with his thumb.

"If I offended you or—?"

"No! No, not that! No, Sam, you've been wonderful to me. I guess I was just…I mean you're so…" Mercedes played with her fingers again but squared her shoulders. "I'm glad I make you happy. I was afraid I wasn't or I couldn't; or you'd remember who I was because I'm not popular or as experienced as other girls are—"

"I think you're pretty amazing," Sam said with a comforting smile. "And I think you could probably do so much better than me."

Mercedes bit her lip and raised her hand, drawing it back a little once before continuing her action and cupping his face. It was the first time she'd initiated romantic contact with him and it was as if his entire body relaxed under her touch. He tilted his face into her palm, then turned his head and placed a kiss into the center of it.

"I think you're amazing too," Mercedes said softly. "And considerate, and really quite funny…even if dorky…and giving, and responsible, and dedicated, and sweet, and you love your family so much."

"I'd do anything for them," Sam agreed, looking at her through his lashes, his mouth still cradled in her palm.

"Honorable," Mercedes said, her smile growing. "That's what Kurt called you when you said you'd sing with him when you first joined glee. And you are, Sam Evans. That's a rare thing to find in a guy while still in high school."

"I dunno, I think Mike's pretty honorable," Sam said.

"He is! And so was Matt—he moved last year. I think all of you guys would've liked each other," Mercedes said.

Sam pulled Mercedes closer to him and linked his hand with hers at his jaw. The lower the sun went the more she seemed to glow. Shooting her a lopsided grin, Sam kissed her cheek and squeezed her again, making Mercedes chuckle.

"You really like doing that, don't you?"

"You have no idea," he said on a groan, moving his mouth to her jaw. "You're like the perfect holdable person."

She laughed. "Sam!"

"Holdin' my lady at the lake in the summertime," Sam sang with an affected drawl, and she laughed harder.

"Bein' held by my man and feelin' so fine!" Mercedes continued, and Sam felt himself blush. Even playing around she sounded as if she were singing a track off of a platinum-selling album.

"She's got a body to squeeze and I aim to please," Sam continued, blowing a raspberry into her a cheek that made her throw her head back and cackle.

"And his lips when we kiss make me weak in the knees!" she ended, doing a little run at the end that made him more aroused than he should've been.

"Hmm, that should've been my line, lady," Sam mused against her jaw.

"We can share," Mercedes promised, and he sealed that deal with a kiss.

They continued their light making out as Mercedes' mp3 played through the speakers. When the sun sank low beyond the tree line, Mercedes pulled back reluctantly and with a pout.

"I think we should start packing up."

Sam grunted, pecking her mouth. "We still have time before your curfew."

"_Saaammm_," she pled, though dropped her head back so he could continue pecking her jaw and neck. "My parents are out—it's date night; but they always call the house at ten, so I better be there…"

He paused, but didn't lift his mouth from her. "Can we continue this at your place?"

"I'm counting on it, baby…"

He smiled into the crook of her neck and squeezed her before letting her go and clearing up their space. They kept the music playing, and Mercedes started really getting into one song in particular. Sam wasn't familiar with it; but as he listened to the lyrics, he knew he'd have to get himself very acquainted with it one way or another.

"Who's this?"

"The Four Tops, 'Ain't No Woman (Like the One I Got)'. My dad sings this all the time to my mom; it's one of my favorite songs," she explained, folding the blankets with hip shimmies and her gorgeous voice harmonizing with the soloist. Sam smiled and tugged on the blanket, cheering that she took the cue and twirled in the blanket toward him. They danced with each other until the track ended, and he kissed her lips lightly before twirling her back out and finishing their cleanup to "Dancing in the Streets".

The drive back was just as quiet between them as the ride there; except, this time, Sam held Mercedes' free hand almost the entire way. They weren't in her house for fifteen minutes, cuddled on her couch watching a C-horror movie, before the house phone rang, right at ten o'clock. Sam didn't bother to turn up the sound again when the call ended.

"I like you like this," Sam said into the crown of her head.

"Like what?" she said drowsily.

"Languid," Sam said, pulling out a word he'd learned during their frantic songwriting sessions.

Mercedes smiled and snuggled deeper into him, humming. "I like being languid with you."

Sam kissed her temple, thinking he could get used to this.


	17. Consolation Prize

**Title:** Consolation Prize  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes and Kurt, mentions of Samcedes  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E22  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem. And friends. And family. And a home.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes honestly never thought it'd come to this; but neither had Kurt, for entirely different reasons.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Amuzed1 on Tumblr asked after this prompt MONTHS ago. I hope I did it justice. Please forgive lingering errors and enjoy!

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><p><em>I need u now.<em>

Mercedes almost ran over Kurt in her haste to get to her car, the teen hunched over as he sat on the damp porch steps that led to her front door. There'd just been a late-afternoon drizzle in her neighborhood, one so light the sun didn't even bother to hide during it, as she'd prepared dinner for herself and her parents (who'd eat it later, as usual). Luckily, she'd just pulled the roast from the oven and all of the other sides had been made the night before, so it'd been nothing to rush out of her home at the text. But, gratefully, Kurt had made it an easier chore to get to him…although she knew things were dire if he were willing to sacrifice his designer trousers on her stoop.

"Are you hungry?" she asked while still standing, sliding calming fingers through his hair.

He shook his head. "No. I'm _actually_ a Lima Loser…"

Her heart clenched, her mind immediately going to that all-important acceptance letter he'd been anticipating for far too long; but that didn't make any sense for there to be any other response _but_ a yes, so she figured this were Blaine!problems.

"Well, _that's_ impossible considering—"

"Considering _what_, Mercedes?" Kurt interrupted harshly, shoving off the steps to pace in front of her. "I lost the lead in the musical; I lost the class presidential elections; for a minute there I'd lost _Blaine_; and now…" His breath hitched and he buried his face into his hands. "Oh, _God_…!"

Her heart seized, then pumped at the speed of sound and she rushed down the steps to him, gripping his wrists and shaking him a little. "Kurt! Is it your dad—?!"

He looked at her in horror, jerking his hands from his face. "No! Mercedes, that's awful to say!"

"Well, what am I _supposed_ to think?! You're standing here as if you've just lost your world!" Mercedes hissed, squeezing his wrists before flinging them out her grasp.

He stared at her, his eyes still red from the tears he'd just shed, but then he grinned and hugged her tightly. "You…wow, hello, perspective…"

She frowned but hugged him in return. "Uh, okay?"

"I didn't get into NYADA—"

"_The hell_?!" Mercedes snapped, glaring at him as if he'd sprouted horns. "That makes literally _no sense_! How—?!"

"Oh, it gets even better," Kurt mumbled, arching an eyebrow.

Her eyes widened, knowing what he was about to say but refusing to believe it. "Oh, _hell to the naw_! _HELL TO THE NAW_, are you _serious_?!" she asked, slapping Kurt's shoulder. "_SERIOUSLY_?!"

"_Girl_…"

"This is some _bull and shit_!" Mercedes cussed, now pacing and flapping her arms to better articulate her disgust. "How the hell do _you_ kick ass in your audition but lose out to 'The Girl Who _Choked_'?!"

Kurt sighed. "Well, she had all those extracurriculars; she had that letter from Shelby, who's like the best glee-club director ever, she _was_ the lead in the school musical this year…and we _did_ just win Nationals thanks to _her_—"

"SHE. CHOKED!" Mercedes snarled, her entire body vibrating with the injustice of it all. Rachel Berry truly _did_ get everything and it wasn't fair. She wouldn't have even minded Rachel's good fortune had Kurt also gotten into NYADA, as he should've; but it felt too much like Rachel had taken Kurt's spot…just as she'd taken Mercedes' opportunities for the past three years.

"Carmen Tibideaux was in the audience at Nationals," Kurt revealed on a mumble.

Mercedes was completely outdone at that news, so much so she started cracking up with laughter. Other than the Troubletones number (which she'd been surprised Mr. Schuester hadn't demanded Rachel take over the lead with _that_), it'd been the Rachel Berry Show featuring everyone else; but at that point, Mercedes had stopped giving a damn about the typical setup. She'd been on her "I'm Graduating Soon!" high and worried about her own life after high school to try to change a mind as immovable as a mountain. And now…well…she'd be clear across the country away from all of this, free to start afresh—

"Come with me," Mercedes pled, abruptly stopping her laughing, but another giggle bubbled forth at Kurt's askance glance her way.

"Come with you _where_?" Kurt asked slowly.

"To California! It's not too late to sign up for extension classes at UCLA like I'm taking, and maybe you can even get back into fashion, or do community theater there—"

"Wait, what?" Kurt asked, laughing a little. "California?"

"Yes! It'll be fun! We'll be as far from Lima as we can get and blaze our own trails without being stuck in people's shadows—"

"And how will we eat?" Kurt asked. "Pay rent? Neither one of us is built for the 'service' industry…especially _me_…" He pulled a face and shuddered a bit.

At this, Mercedes grew quiet. After telling Sam, she'd sworn him to secrecy about Jupiter Records. Of course, he'd immediately told Mike, who'd told Tina, but they (and Santana—thanks to her stumbling on a well-timed balloon surprise during a lunch period where most of the others had eaten off campus—which meant probably Brittany also now) were the only ones who knew. It felt inconsiderate to share her good news, so she kept it as vague as possible.

"I'll sing," she said nonchalantly, shrugging.

"What—on the _street_ like they do in New York—?"

She bristled at that. "What? You don't think I'm good enough to get a deal?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Of course you are, Mercedes—but those things take time! You know Rachel's put videos of her singing on MySpace for _years_ and nobody's approached her yet. You don't even have a video—!"

"_Really_ wish you'd stop using Rachel for the standard of _everything_," she muttered, crossing her arms. She held up her hand when he started to speak. "Are you hungry?"

Kurt scoffed as he approached, linking their arms together to guide her back into the house. "For your cooking? _Always_!"

She laughed and bumped their shoulders together. "Well, if you come out to California, you'll have it more often…"

They managed to have a congenial dinner, Mercedes more excited by not having to eat alone than anything else. She listened to Kurt retell the "Reveal Session" that had happened in the choir room with him, Finn, and Rachel, mildly surprised Rachel didn't rub her acceptance in everyone's faces. Then again, Mercedes could admit Rachel could be considerate sometimes. She just wished those times were less rare than blue moons.

"But maybe this is a good thing," Kurt said on a sigh, helping Mercedes rinse off the dishes they'd used to place in the dishwasher while she washed the pots and pans. "Blaine's still here—can you _believe_ all of his Dalton credits didn't transfer? They're one of the best schools in Ohio and he has to stick around—!"

"Same thing with Sam," Mercedes said on a sigh, her bright orange gloves almost completely submerged in the soapy sink water as she tackled the roaster. "He said his parents were actually considering letting him stay in Lima."

"He's more than welcome," Kurt said, waving away her unspoken worry. "I think Carole would appreciate delaying the 'empty nest syndrome' for another year."

"That's real nice of her," Mercedes mused. Kurt suddenly brightened, and she sent him a wary look. "What?"

"Well…do you _have_ to go to California _this_ year?" Kurt asked, sidling up to her and nudging her elbow with his, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. "You can take extension classes _anywhere_, can't you? That means you can stay here in Lima with me and Sam and you two could _double-date_ with me and Blaine and then maybe we'll go up to New York to see—"

Mercedes burst out laughing, so much so she started crying. Her guffaws had her leaning against the sink, her top getting damp from the water that had splashed out of the deep bins onto the granite countertop, but she didn't care. Mindful of her gloves, her eyes found a dry patch of skin on her arm to dry themselves; but a quick peak at a bewildered Kurt had her giggling all over again.

"Did I say something funny?" he asked.

Mercedes just laughed harder, though she quieted a little at his crestfallen face.

"Being with me is funny to you?"

"No, the fact you'd rather stay in _Lima_ than go to _California_ is funny to me," she said, finally calming.

"We know people here—"

"You'd know _me_ there! And Puck's still trying to go—"

"But Blaine and Sam—"

Mercedes snorted. "Sam's been sending links to me and Puck about 'awesome two-bedroom apartments' where we could stay with affordable rents, and neighborhoods with lots of pools to Puck so he could make some contacts before going out there; he's excited for us, Kurt."

"So, we'd live off _Puck_ if I went with you?" Kurt asked skeptically.

"_With_ Puck," Mercedes said. "We'd help with rent. I'd sing, and you'd figure out something—maybe even Papa Burt would send an allowance," she said with a shrug, putting the last of the washed dishes in the drying rack.

"But—"

"Just say you don't _want_ to," Mercedes finally snapped and threw the soapy sponge into the sink where it floated defiantly. "Just say you'd rather be here with Blaine and close to Rachel and Finn. You won't hurt my feelings anymore, Kurt. It was just a suggestion since you came to _my_ house crying about being a Lima Loser. Not getting into NYADA doesn't make you one; but giving up on your _actual_ dreams does!"

He blinked hard at her, mouth agape at her outburst. "Mercedes—!"

"You have an entire notebook of sketches—or at least you used to—what happened to it? Why don't you have a backup plan?" she asked, taking off the kitchen gloves and letting the sink drain. "Kurt, only last summer did you start caring about singing and dancing on a stage professionally; up until then, you were trying to be the American John Galliano! You were going to design my Grammy dress! I was going to be your muse…but I guess you've found another one. Fitting, as she has a more 'fashion-appropriate' body anyway, huh?"

Kurt looked guilty and contrite. "After that nasty anti-Semitic outburst he had, I'm going for more Alexander McQueen."

She eyed him up and down. "Your _personal_ style is McQueen; your design style isn't."

He brightened. "You are _so right_! Ugh, sometimes it's so _frustrating_ with Rachel! I'll make a reference and she just _doesn't get it_! At least with you, you'd let me go _on and on_ about Oscar or Vivienne or Betsey—"

"Because I'm your friend, and I care about what makes you happy," she said with a sad smile. "But I'm not your 'close friend' anymore. I'm not even your 'best friend' anymore. And I'm okay with that now."

The heartbreak that appeared on Kurt's face made her cup his cheek to calm him. "It's all right. We change, we grow. We've grown apart. And it was difficult for me, because you were my first, true best friend. And I had a little hope after that last blow up, back when I said I was going to LA. I almost believed your distinction—_almost_—until you still didn't spend any time with me. I wasn't going to make the effort; I was always the one to. It was your turn now. You didn't step up…and yet I thought with you calling me…but this conversation has made it very clear." She shrugged, dropping her hand. "I'm just a friend now, and I'm okay with that. You need to be okay with that now, Kurt, all right?"

He was openly crying now. "No, _Mercedes_—!"

She hugged him tightly, and he almost stole the breath out of her, so strong were his arms around her. "I'll always love you; you'll always be dear to me, but it's time to let us go, Kurt. You've got Rachel now."

"_Mercedes…_"

"Maybe I'll find someone in LA," Mercedes said on a watery chuckle. "Hell, maybe it'll even be Puck!"

"Puck," he said with a scoff, dropping his face in her shoulder. "All he knows is Mario Kart."

"I love playing Mario Kart; and he's actually very bright when people give him a chance. He's funny, and he can be sweet. He's a supportive friend—he was willing to do drag for the glee club, remember? Recruited Lauren when we were short after you left? Rallied the football team to win the conference championship junior year…" She pulled back and eyed him. "Would've gone toe-to-toe with Karofsky back when he was bullying you had it not risked his probation…"

Kurt hung his head. "Puck's a good guy."

"Yes, he is. I think, if he wants, we could look out for each other. If not, I've done a pretty good job of looking out for myself these past few years," Mercedes said with a shrug.

He frowned at her, then laughed incredulously. "You make it sound like you've been alone all this time."

She shrugged again, stepping away from him to wipe down the counter.

"Mercedes—"

"I understand I'm not a priority in anyone's life but mine," she said.

"That's not—!"

"I know people love me and care about me, but I'm the afterthought. And no, I'm not okay with that; but this is why I _need_ California, Kurt! I can't stay here and be your Effie White anymore!"

It was quiet in the kitchen for a while, though at least Kurt continued to help her clean. She even decided to bake some cookies he could take with him to help him grieve his NYADA rejection, although she made him leave the room when she added her special ingredients. He'd grown teary again then; normally, all he'd have to do was turn his back. But they weren't besties anymore; he no longer had the privilege.

"What about Sam?"

They'd been staring at the oven quietly, watching the timer descend to zero even as the chocolate and sugar aroma filled the kitchen.

She smiled a little. "I think we'll finally have our summer; then after that…"

He eyed her. "You're _his_ priority, Mercedes—after all those declarations and wooing, singing songs to each other—"

Mercedes huffed and rolled her eyes. "I'm going to be across the country, and he'll need to focus on his schoolwork, and what he's going to do after he graduates, and his family. And we're _teenagers_."

"You two don't love like teenagers, Mercedes."

She took a deep breath. "That doesn't change the fact we're still_ just_ teenagers, Kurt."

"Mercedes—"

The oven's ding made them both jump, and she refused to continue the discussion.

She let the cookies cool and Kurt answered texts on his phone, throwing glances her way that she refused to catch. When sufficient time had passed, she wrapped the cookies in wax paper and placed them in three deep Chinese takeout containers. She'd made thirty-six cookies; each boy got a dozen.

"You know Finn's going to try to steal more."

"Make sure he grabs Sam's then," she said and smirked.

He laughed, eyes widening. "I'm surprised you didn't say mine…"

"You're grieving; he's not," Mercedes said, touching his chin gently. "And you are _not_ a Lima Loser."

She walked him to the door but not to his SUV. They hugged and kissed like they'd done countless times before, but there was a finality to it that made her throat grow tight and her eyes sting. He didn't pull out immediately once he'd gotten settled in the vehicle, even as the daytime running lights shone on her like a spotlight and the engine rumbled with untapped power. She saw him wipe at his face, his blue eyes trained on hers, and she plastered on a smile and waved. He did the same, finally backing out and driving away.

She locked the front door, made another batch of cookies, and cried the entire time they baked.


	18. Jim Brown

**Title:** Jim Brown  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes/Sam, Jones family, glee club  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S3E22  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem. And friends. And family. And a home.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Pep talks aren't just reserved for the football field.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> For those still around reading - thank you! Please forgive lingering errors and enjoy!

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><p>It was a wonder how none of the seniors had figured out glee club was doing something for them considering the underclassmen had essentially given them a preview with Finn's serenade. Had the others honestly thought they wouldn't be honored for all the hard work and dedication they'd provided? Without their leadership <em>collectively<em>, they wouldn't be the proud owners of a Nationals championship trophy, and the underclassmen wanted to say one final thanks before seniors all scattered to begin the next journey of their lives.

Ms. Pillsbury had been instrumental in helping to plan the banquet. In fact, she'd found the venue—a fine reception hall used primarily for wedding secured with Sugar Motta's father's money—and bought little mini-trophies to give to seniors. Tina and Artie worked on creating the certificates and the others were on decoration duty, with Brittany and Sam at the helm.

It'd been easy to maintain the surprise, the seniors in Hudmel abode especially were so preoccupied with graduation rehearsals and fretting over what they'd do after graduation. Kurt himself had been particularly glum the past few days, but he was always surrounded by either Rachel, Finn, and/or Blaine, so Sam didn't take great effort to pursue the why. He had comforted both Finn and Kurt for not getting into their schools of choice, but Kurt hadn't even eaten most of the cookies he'd brought back from Mercedes' house last week (even as Sam had tried not to feel some kind of way about not being invited to that dinner). Nevertheless, Sam had gotten a great guffaw when Kurt had side-eye the hell out of Finn when he'd asked if he could have the rest of Kurt's cookies.

"No!" Kurt had snapped. "And _don't_ ask Sam for any of his, either—!"

"The answer will _always_ be, as my lady would say, 'hell to the no!'" Sam had replied, holding his container protectively to his chest, wholly unmoved by Finn's severe pout.

The underclassmen had decided the seniors would be honored alphabetically, which meant, probably fittingly, Rachel Berry was first. They'd also decided to pull names from a hat to see who would speak about which senior. He'd snickered to himself when he'd pulled out Puck's name from the "Hat of Fate" as Artie had called it, and had tried not to be too jealous when Sugar got Mercedes.

Sam wasn't surprised when most of the families had arrived at the venue before any of the seniors; and although he wasn't as relaxed around Mercedes' parents as he'd been last summer, he approached them with a smile and a hand to shake. Of course, Mrs. Jones scoffed at the outstretched hand and enfolded him in a warm hug that was reminiscent of her daughter's, and Sam returned it just as warmly.

"I tried to save y'all a seat at the graduation," Sam said, shaking Dr. Jones's hand and fist-bumping Mercedes' brother Micah's.

"We had a flat," Mrs. Jones said, glaring at her husband who shrugged and threw up his hands in innocence. "We were already running late and then caught a _flat_! At least I saw my baby getting her diploma—"

"That's all I wanted to see anyway," Micah muttered, barely reacting when his father shoved him lightly for his impertinence.

"Mercedes didn't sing, did she?" Dr. Jones asked.

"No, Rachel did, though."

The Joneses blew out relieved breaths. "Glad we didn't miss anything, then," Micah mumbled, flinching just in case his father reprimanded him again, but the elder Joneses merely shrugged.

"I was almost glad for that flat, though," Dr. Jones admitted, looking at his wife tenderly. "If I didn't see her graduate, I could pretend she was still my baby girl…that she wouldn't be all the way across the country in a few months' time…"

Mrs. Jones cupped her husband's cheek and brushed it with her thumb. Micah regarded his parents with understanding, lips quirked, and Sam turned away to give them more privacy.

"Uh, Sam?" Mrs. Jones asked after the moment had passed, and he turned back to look at her.

"Yes, Mrs.—" She eyed him and he grinned a little. "Mama Jones?"

"Would you like to sit at our table? You're more than welcome."

His heart throbbed in his chest at the invitation, and had to remind it and himself it was merely an invitation to _sit_—nothing more. But as with most major live events, he was thinking about his future, and how he would make sure Mercedes was always in it. The past year had been a whirlwind, and he knew he probably wouldn't have made it without her. Even those few weeks when they weren't even speaking after Valentine's Day, she'd been a stabilizing force for him. Just to hear her laugh had given him hope things would work out as they should eventually—they together as a couple.

"I," Sam began, pulling himself out of his musings, "need to let the Hudmels know I'll be here."

"The Hudm—_oh_, clever!" Dr. Jones praised, clapping Sam's shoulder and squeezing. "Good one, Sam!"

In the end, it all worked out. Since all the seniors were at a table up front, Blaine, Mrs. Fabray, and the Berrys sat with the Hudmels. Mrs. Puckerman and her daughter shared a table with him and the Joneses at Mrs. Jones request. Rory and Brittany sat at the Lopez table while Artie and Tina sat with Mike Chang's family. Sugar, of course, had her own table near the front and had invited Joe to sit with her.

When the seniors entered, everyone gave them a standing ovation. Mercedes was arm-in-arm with Santana and Quinn, and she beamed at her family's table. No one sat until the seniors were settled, and Ms. Pillsbury went up to the lectern on the podium where the microphone was.

Everyone chuckled at the brief feedback that left Ms. Pillsbury blushing and flustered, but she greeted them with aplomb. Admittedly, Sam tuned her out, too busy being hungry for the food and paying attention to Mercedes to care. Luckily, the wait staff was already bringing out the rolls and salads, and he snickered at Micah's "_Thank God!_" when the basket of bread appeared before them. His hand immediately reached out for one, but Mama Jones's glare had that hand slipping right back to his lap.

"Jesus," Sam whispered, impressed and afeared.

"You'd think at twenty…" Micah muttered, but knew better than to meet his mother's eyes while that glare was still at full power.

There was sudden applause that Sam joined in belatedly. Mr. Schuester was up there now, looking at each student fondly. Again, Sam tuned out the talking, amused by the faces Mercedes and Santana were pulling. They were obviously trying to see who'd crack first. Santana won, Mercedes hiding her giggles behind the cloth napkin as she continuously bumped her shoulder against Santana's. Sam was intrigued by Kurt's wistful glances their way, but Finn tapped Kurt on the shoulder to gain his attention.

Despite the formal setting, the actual banquet was very lax. Most of the seniors spent more time socializing than eating the herb chicken with garlic sauce, mashed potatoes, and grilled asparagus. Dr. Jones didn't seem too impressed by the menu and kept muttering about how he was glad there were leftovers at home. Mama Jones's "Hush!" didn't drown out Micah's "Amen!" or Puck's sister's imploration for some of it as well. Nevertheless, Sam inhaled his dinner simply because he could, though he'd also never turn down a Jones-cooked meal.

_Ever_.

Mercedes and Puck stopped by the table, Puck groaning playfully when his sister "punched" him in the gut. Mercedes hugged her brother around his neck from behind and grinned into the top of his head as their father waxed poetic about the _real_ dinner awaiting them in their refrigerator.

"Seriously—_can we_?" Puck's sister begged her exasperated mother.

"At _least_ for the cornbread," Puck negotiated, winking at Mama Jones. She laughed and waved away his comment with a coy hand and shy smile.

"What I told you 'bout makin' eyes at my women!" Dr. Jones huffed, wagging a roll at Puck for emphasis.

The Mohawked teen shrugged as if helpless. "The good Lord simply refuses to let me be blind to his wonders, Pop Jones…"

"Gag," Micah muttered underneath a cough.

"Seconded," Sam agreed, scowling. Puck could forget about the nice things he was going to say later!

"Oh, shut up, Marcus, and let me have my compliment!" Mama Jones chastised. "Nothing wrong with being appreciated!"

"Um, ma'am, ain't nobody need to 'appreciate' you but _me_—!"

"Jesus, be a fence!" Micah begged, and Mercedes snickered as she fist-bumped her mother.

"Mercedes, don't listen to your father!" Mama Jones advised. "You're a Brewer woman! You can't help but have admirers—"

"Nuh-huh, she a Jones now, just like you are!" Dr. Jones declared. "Once a Jones, _always_ a Jones!"

"Oh, Lord," Mercedes mumbled, rolling her eyes. Sam raised an eyebrow at her upon that claim and she eyed him warningly.

"Yeah, I said it!" Dr. Jones continued. "Ain't nobody good enough for my baby girl far as _I_ can see—and yeah, that includes you, Blondie, even though I like you better than Hawkie—!"

"I've been called worse," Puck mumbled, though took care to tickle his laughing sister.

Mercedes sighed and straightened, her arm now draped along her brother's shoulders. "As incredibly premature as this discussion is, that decision is ultimately up to me—"

"So…is that a 'yes'?" Sam asked, looking directly at Mercedes.

Her eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut.

Dr. Jones looked at them both sideways. "A 'yes' to _what_?" he asked, his voice pitched dangerously low.

Luckily, Miss Pillsbury tapped on the mic and asked the seniors to return to their seats, effectively pausing the conversation. Dr. Jones continued to eye Sam, who kept his eyes fixed on Miss Pillsbury for fear of his life.

It was probably best Joe had pulled Rachel's name, as he was the newest member of the club and never had a mean thing to say about anyone. When he congratulated her for getting into NYADA, the room applauded, and Rachel seemed moved by the support. To Sam's mild surprise, Mercedes and Santana were among the ones cheering the loudest—Santana actually appearing genuine. Then again, they were all on graduation highs.

It was funny listening to Blaine gushed about Mike and his physics-defying dancing, although both Sam and Micah barely contained themselves at the jealous glares Kurt and Tina were sending Blaine's way as the former Warbler became a little too complimentary. Gratefully, Sam felt pretty secure about where Mercedes' attractions lay, but even _she_ whooped a little too emphatically when Blaine finished his homage to Mike's abs…and arms…and Adam's apple?

As expected, Tina gave a very sweet tribute to Quinn; to everyone's surprise, though, she made it through without completely breaking down. Both girls did shed some tears, though, having obviously grown close when the other girls had left to form the Troubletones; and Quinn received a standing ovation after Tina praised her for her resiliency and drive to make it into Yale considering all the trials and tribulations she'd endured—her most recent being her car accident. Mike squeezed a blushing Quinn's shoulder fraternally, and Sam didn't miss the wink Mercedes sent Quinn or the kiss Quinn blew in return. The applause grew louder when Quinn broke protocol and shouted out Joe and especially Artie for being instrumental in her full recovery.

It was a good segue into Artie's turn for Finn, who rolled up to table in front of Finn and took the cordless mic Miss Pillsbury gave him. Artie was hysterical, almost treating his tribute as a roast. Everyone laughed for a good two minutes when Artie cracked even _he_ was a better dancer than Finn. Mercedes snorted loudly at that, which sent the room cracking even more. But it turned serious when Artie thanked Finn for being one of the first "cool kids" to actually defend and befriend him and for being a "bro", and everyone was pleasantly surprised when Finn left his seat to give Artie a large hug.

Brittany's speech for Kurt was a little disjointed and a lot revealing, though not in a completely embarrassing way. Her thoughts connected in ways that obviously only made sense to her and Santana—and maybe Quinn and Mercedes—but Kurt was a good sport about it. Brittany thanked him for letting her be his first (and last) female kiss and for being her fashion consultant for all major McKinley dances, and then apologized for being an ineffectual campaign manager during her brief tenure considering she didn't leave enough groundswell for him to beat her when she joined the senior class president race. She also reminded him to never be ashamed of being a unicorn, and that he should tap into his rainbow powers should he encounter bullies again.

"Or call Santana," Brittany concluded. "She'll know what to do."

"Damn straight!" Santana agreed while everyone clapped, winking at her love.

The entire Jones family and Sam straightened when it was Mercedes' turn, whereas an obviously shy Mercedes looked down at her lap. It was very unlike Sugar not to bounce and flail wherever she went; and in fact, she approached the podium as if it were the gallows. She adjusted the lectern's mic and cleared her throat, smiling, but it was too tremulous to be genuine. She took in a deep, shaky breath before starting.

"Mercedes…"

That was as far as Sugar got before bursting into tears. Mercedes' head snapped up, clearly bewildered at the rare display of genuine emotion from the girl. With a quick glance to Santana, Mercedes went to Sugar, who threw her arms around Mercedes and buried her face in her shoulder. Dr. Jones hugged his wife to him, who also became just as weepy as Sugar, and even Micah rubbed at his eyes. When it became apparent Sugar wouldn't stop anytime soon, Miss Pillsbury let Mercedes guide Sugar out the hall to help calm her down and called Rory up to the podium.

Rory was mostly incomprehensible, and Sam didn't know if that was from nerves (Santana side-eyed him through his entire speech) or his thick accent. However, he did manage to bring a genuine smile to Santana's face when he said he admired her ferocity over the people she cared about and that she'd be able to accomplish anything with her mere will, her cunning, or instilling terror in her enemies. The Lopez table cheered mightily at that and Santana stood and gifted her family with a small bow.

Miss Pillsbury called Sam up, and he rolled his eyes when Puck pumped his fist in the air.

"You're my bro, dude!" Puck said, actually approaching Sam and hugging him before he even said anything. "You're my bro!"

The room laughed at Puck's antics, which actually helped quell the butterflies that had unexpectedly started in Sam's gut. When the room settled, Sam started to speak and noticed Sugar and Mercedes returning, but they hung near the back, Mercedes smiling and nodding for him to continue.

Sam took a deep breath. "Noah Puckerman…"

"Pucky Puck!" Finn shouted, and the room laughed again.

"Puck," Sam reiterated. "Or, as I prefer to call him, _brother_." He flashed Puck a crooked smile, and Puck actually blushed. "You've…had a colorful tenure here at McKinley, some of it which I had to hear about, though a lot I witnessed. And while it may have been rocky, I have to say you're one of the best people I know." There was more applause, and Puck looked down with a small smile. "I know you had your challenges with school, and I can relate, but you're much smarter than you think. Dude, you're a _businessman_, and you're one of the biggest team players I've ever seen and you work hard for the things that matter to you. I know Finn was the official leader, but I don't think you realize how much the rest of us guys looked up to you. You look out for your family—a fierce protector. You'll do well out there, probably will start a pool cleaning empire out in California or wherever you end up. I'll miss our _Mario Kart_ and _Call of Duty_ sessions, man, and _especially_ our guitar jam sessions. But mostly, I'll just miss you, my bro," Sam finished, his throat closing up with sudden emotions. Sam laughed when Puck hugged him so hard he became airborne, and rolled his eyes when Puck kissed his forehead with a loud smack.

"Love you, man!" Puck announced amid the clapping. "Love you!"

"Back at you, Pucky Puck!" Sam returned on a snicker, and they did a complicated "bro-shake" before he returned to his table, where everyone congratulated him on his speech—even getting a kiss on the cheek from Puck's sister.

Miss Pillsbury returned to the podium when the room quieted. "Sugar, you want to try again?"

"Yes," Sugar said quietly, gripping Mercedes hand as they walked to the podium. Sugar wouldn't let go when Mercedes began to return to her seat, so she stood there with the underclassman.

"Okay, um, sorry about earlier," Sugar said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm glad I wrote down what I had to say…" Mercedes whispered something into Sugar's ear, and Sugar smiled more genuinely this time, smoothing down the paper she'd placed on the lectern.

"Mercedes, I'm gonna miss you so much," Sugar began, taking another deep breath. "I know we started off rocky—_really_ rocky. I thought because I was rich, I could say anything I wanted—even convinced myself I had Asperger so nobody could question me, when actually I was just putting up a front to hide how lonely and isolated I felt. I don't know how you figured it out, but you did, and you took me under your wing."

Mercedes wrapped an arm around Sugar and she smiled again, continuing. "You did what I couldn't do—recruited girls to join our glee club and whipped us all into shape. We _were_ fierce, femme, and phenomenal, but none more so than you, Mercedes. You were usually the first one at rehearsal and the last to leave. Your dedication to our group kept us going, even when…things got dicey…" Sugar said, shooting a look to Santana, who shrugged and conceded the point. "You put together our costumes, did our musical charting—even had 'retreats' in your living room to bring us closer—and made sure every girl in the Troubletones knew she had a place and was valued. And for _once_, I felt a part of something—a winning team."

Sam saw Mercedes' face fall and she looked down, shaking her head, but Sugar kept going. "Nobody will ever be able to convince me the Troubletones weren't the best group on that stage during Sectionals, but it wasn't to be our night. What killed me, though, wasn't that we lost…it was you, Mercedes, and the responsibility to you took for that loss. You apologized to us for not being a good enough leader, for letting us down. Well, Mercedes, I think I speak for not only myself, but Santana and Brittany too, when I say you were the best leader any of us have ever had. Yeah, we lost Sectionals, but we won, because while we did eventually get our trophy with New Directions, we're also now Troubletone sisters for life. And for me, I have _friends_ now—honest-to-goodness friends who like me because I'm Sugar and not because I'm a Motta."

Mama Jones was openly sobbing now; and there were more than a few sniffles punctuating the air.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without you next year, not to be treated to a free Mercedes Jones concert every day because I know one day soon we'll all have to pay for them! There are singers, and then there's you—crème de la crème. Granted, I had an…_elevated_ opinion of my singing ability—" Artie guffawed noisily at that, making everyone else laugh, including Sugar, "—but then I realized how _completely_ off I was when I heard you sing just the _warm-ups_ during that very first rehearsal we had, just the two of us. You'd mimic Miss Corcoran so effortlessly, and you'd miss the awe Miss Corcoran had whenever you did, because you'd put your all into just that. And to realize you hadn't even grazed the fullness of your potential according to her left me humbled. Mercedes, you're so good, that after a year of listening to you and having you work with me, I can now officially say I can carry a tune _on key_!"

There was much applause, and Sugar curtsied in response, Mercedes laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the lectern, especially when Santana came up and high-fived her.

Sugar gave Mercedes another small smile once everyone calmed down again. "I love you so much, Mercedes, and I'm gonna miss you so much, and thank you so much for being the big sister I always wanted, okay?"

Unsurprisingly, Sugar's speech earned a standing ovation. Mercedes and Sugar hugged hard and long, and laughed when Brittany and Santana joined the embrace. Eventually, all of them returned to their seats, except for Quinn, who hugged Mercedes from behind.

Mr. Schuester stood at the lectern now, Miss Pillsbury stationed at the table behind him where the certificates and trophies were. He called each senior's name to come and get their commendations while saying what each graduate was doing next year. Mr. Schue was extremely prideful when he announced NYADA for Rachel, Joffrey Dance Academy for Mike, and Yale for Quinn. It was hard for Sam not to wince when Mr. Schue gave a subdued, yet hopeful "undecided" for both Finn and Kurt, then he grimaced further when Mr. Schue mistakenly announced Mercedes was going to Cleveland State. Mercedes merely accepted her certificate and trophy with a pinched smile, then hushed Santana when she started snickering loudly as she returned to her seat.

"Uh, Santana?" Mr. Schue called, having just said she was going to University of Louisville on a cheerleading scholarship, and lifted her certificate and trophy for her to get. Santana continued snickering as she gathered her things, bowing at her family's energetic applause.

Puck pumped his fists in the air and whooped when Mr. Schue called his name; but when the glee club advisor said Puck was undecided, Puck shook his head and pulled the mic Mr. Schue still held to his mouth.

"I'm actually going to start my own pool cleaning business in Los Angeles, and any potential investors may see me directly after this," Puck pitched, pointing to Mr. Motta in particular, who nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

"I stand corrected!" Mr. Schue admitted, chuckling good-naturedly, and concluded the formal portion of the banquet.

Dr. Jones looked at his wife with a frown. "Why didn't Mercedes correct them?"

Mama Jones scowled, crossing her arms at her chest. "The better question is, why didn't they _know_ in the first place?"

It was photo-op time. Sugar had already commandeered Santana and Mercedes for what were obviously Troubletones pictures. The girls struck all sorts of poses—his favorite being a Charlie's Angels-esque one that had all of Mercedes curves jutted out just right. Sam refused to even glance in Dr. Jones's direction, so sure the older man would see the awe and lust in his eyes.

There were so many pictures Sam didn't think his vision would clear from all the flashing for hours, and it'd felt just that long until he had Mercedes in his sights and arms again. She was warm and happy, snuggling into his chest with a giggle and large smile.

"I have news!" she began on an excited hum.

"Really?" he asked, squeezing her close, loving how soft and plush she was.

She nodded. "Well, as Puck was pitching his pool cleaning business to the Mottas, he mentioned I was going to be in LA and so I told them about the record deal. After Sugar almost squealed my ear off, her dad actually suggested we stay in one of his condos for like stupid-cheap rent! He said we were doing him more a favor than anything else, by not having it just sit empty most of the time, but, _oh my God, Sam_!"

Gratefully, her joy outweighed his jealousy, and he kissed her nose sweetly. "You think your dad would go for it?"

Mercedes smirked. "My mama will convince him if he doesn't!"

He grinned as well, this time kissing her lips. "I wish I was comin' with y'all."

Mercedes touched her fingers to his cheeks and burrowed closer, deepening the kiss for a second. "You wanna play house?" she teased.

"I wanna _practice_ house," he returned, his lips brushing hers, his arms squeezing her hips, then chuckled. "Puck could be the dog."

She snickered at that, then sobered, her sweet brown eyes regarding him carefully. "I don't want us making promises and plans we won't be able to keep, Sam."

He ran his fingers through her hair and pressed his forehead against hers. "Lady, you know I've been anglin' for _vows_ for a while now."

She shook her head and scoffed, pointedly looking at his chin instead of his eyes. "I can't believe you asked that in front of my daddy!"

"Just lettin' folks know 'Blondie' is serious," Sam said, kissing her temple. "No matter how many detours we may take, Mercedes, I know the road always leads back to us."

She buried her face into his neck, not speaking for a good while. "I wanna 'practice' house too."

Sam let confession seep into every obvious and hidden hope he had for their future even as Tina and Artie dragged her away for an "original glee club" photo. Kurt and Mercedes flanked the remaining underclassmen while Rachel stood in the middle and Mr. Schue behind her, Artie clinging to Mercedes arm as if he'd never let her go. Sam completely empathized with his bro, but he still had his eye on Mr. Suave there.

"This time, just the original seniors and Mr. Schue!" Mr. Leroy commanded. Sam wondered if anyone else noticed the slight drop in Mercedes' smile. Mr. Hummel and Mama Jones also snapped camera phones as if they were tourists and their children were the eighth wonder of the world; though, Sam supposed they were to them.

"And while I have them in particular up here, I want to say something," Mr. Schue said, squeezing Rachel's and Kurt's shoulders. Mercedes' smile dropped even more and she started to leave.

"Mercedes, where are you going?" Mr. Schue asked on a confused laugh.

Mercedes shrugged. "I thought you only meant Rachel and Kurt—"

"You usually do when you're about to say something nice," Santana muttered audibly. "Oh, and Finn, can't forget about Finn—"

"Santana," Mr. Schue said warningly, then beckoned Mercedes with his eyes back up front. Part of Sam hoped she continued walking, but Mercedes returned to the small group, her pinched smile back on her face.

"As I was saying," Mr. Schue continued, though his expression was more cowed now. "These three have been instrumental to me as a teacher. They've challenged me, helped me grow, and made me see just how many diamonds in the rough are waiting to be shined so they can gleam. Rachel—you getting into NYADA is a surprise to no one and I know we'll all see your name up in lights very soon. Kurt—you are so talented and trailblazing, a maverick of performance. You have a clear, pure tone that any musical director would clamor to use, and many thanks to you and your father for helping me learn to step outside the box. I have every reason to believe I'll see you on stage as well. Heck, you and Rachel may win those Tonys at the same time!"

Light laughter filled the air, but Sam's didn't, too concerned with an increasingly desolate-looking Mercedes to find any mirth. Sam could only wonder what "nice" things Mr. Schue would say about Mercedes considering that last attempt at a pep talk during Disco week. Sam wanted to go up there and take her away from it, but he _also_ wanted to see how long Mr. Schue's rope would get before he'd hang himself on his words.

"And Mercedes," Mr. Schue said, arching an eyebrow and blowing out a breath, as if amazed. "My powerhouse. You're like the icing on the choral cake! I certainly hope New Directions get someone who has the ability to take our performances to the next level like you did. You were our ace in the hole every time and I knew you were something special when you auditioned. And while Cleveland State is no NYADA, I do hope you'll join a chorus or something—"

"Oh, _ew_," Quinn complained, her face screwed up as if she'd just smelled something funky.

"Agreed," Santana muttered. "So damn gross."

"That's like telling Jim Brown you hope he plays some IM flag football when he goes to college," Micah groused with a scowl, but that was nothing compared to the thunderous expressions his parents wore.

Mr. Schue was turning red now, sputtering and backpedaling from the verbal mine he'd unwittingly detonated. "Uh—"

"Who's Jim Brown?" Rachel asked, and Kurt shrugged.

Mercedes burst out laughing at that, but Sam didn't let that fool him, already taking her hand and leading her out of the banquet hall.

"A football player," Blaine answered quietly.

"_Hall of Fame_ football player," Mr. Hummel amended.

"And Mercedes isn't joining a _chorus_ 'cause she's going to _LA _with her _record contract_," he heard Santana snarl with barely contained contempt as the banquet hall doors closed. "¡_Ay, dios mio_!"

Sam almost wished they'd stuck around to see the shock on Mr. Schue's, Rachel's, and Kurt's faces, but Mercedes had been nanoseconds from completely falling apart. He guided her into the handicap stall in the women's bathroom, seating her on the commode as he kneeled before her, rubbing her thighs to help keep her together or be there for when she broke down.

"Mercedes?"

It was Tina, and others, since he heard more footsteps and the door not close. Mercedes shook her head and he nodded.

"I've got her," Sam called.

"Are you sure, baby?" Mama Jones.

Mercedes nodded this time. "Yes, ma'am," Sam assured them, gently brushing away a few tears Mercedes shed.

A few more moments passed until the footsteps receded and the door closed. Mercedes took several deep breaths and Sam squeezed her hands. They remained silent for a while.

"_Who's Jim Brown_?" she mumbled, and started cracking up again.

Sam allowed himself to laugh, knowing she'd pulled herself together because she was laughing with her whole face and body now. He stood higher on his knees and hugged her, his body thrumming as her giggles pushed right against his heart.

"_You're_ Jim Brown," Sam said when they calmed.

"So romantic," Mercedes deadpanned, cuddling into his chest.

"I'm serious," Sam said on a chuckle, linking their fingers together and holding their hands to his heart. "Jim Brown's the best running back the football's ever seen. He's the best of the best—the _crème de la crème_—as Sugar said. _You_ are Jim Brown; and just because people don't know who that is or don't appreciate what he's done for the game doesn't make it any less true."

Mercedes said nothing right away, but he grinned when he felt her kiss the back of his hand. "Sweet talkin' me with football…"

"It was either that or make out until you felt better," Sam said with a shrug.

Mercedes abruptly jerked away, completely startling Sam, her face crumpling melodramatically as she affected hitching breaths. "I'm suddenly very, _very_ sad again…"

Pouting exaggeratedly, Sam began the difficult, hopefully _lengthy_ task of making his lady feel better once more.


	19. Perennial

**Title:** Perennial  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes Jones, Sam Evans, NYC!Glee  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S5E14  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem. And friends. And family. And a home.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes isn't here for another June, honest. Let the side-eyes begin.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> Things had to be reconciled, if only just for me. Please forgive errors and enjoy!

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><p>It must be a perennial thing with them, when the weather got sixty-five and higher with sunnier skies that lasted for half a day or more. An entire winter and spring of nothing; but June would hit, and they could barely keep eyes, hands, and lips off of each other.<p>

It'd been a clean break between Mercedes and Sam at the end of summer before his senior year, so clean that he'd apparently forgotten he'd even loved her, so pristine she'd forgotten _she'd_ put the kibosh on their seasonal romance. He'd pulled a her but better, throwing all of his feelings into another with complete and total verve instead of timidity and "this'll do" as she'd done with Shane. It was one of the reasons she'd loved him, his willingness to dive in full-bore; it was the main reason it'd crushed her more than she'd anticipated when she'd seen it for another—not that she'd let anyone know, of course. She knew what his devotion felt like; to see it wasted on someone who'd always belong to another was as frustrating as it was devastating. Never mind that "someone" had been one of her closest friends _her_ senior year and that the new "one true love" couple had sudden amnesia and had disremembered what she'd looked like or that she did _not_ have a younger sibling, let alone a twin. But Brittany had always handled adversity in curious ways; and for the sake of whatever friendship they'd had, Mercedes had resolved Wonder Twins 2.0 wouldn't have to taste her fist. Both had been dealing with breakups they hadn't wanted the best way they knew how—total and utter denial.

She'd chosen avoidance herself, throwing herself into her music and getting her album off the ground—both times. She'd nurtured a closer relationship with Mike of all people, and they'd leaned on each other so heavily they'd almost fallen in love. But his tether was still in Lima just as hers was, and Mike's renewing springs were no match for Sam's full-bloom summers.

Poor Artie had rolled in on them unfurling that new summer's passions in his bedroom, which had doubled as coat-check at one of the several graduation/Memorial Day parties last year. She'd never heard Artie so outraged, especially since his main beef had been the Sam of it all. She'd be perfectly fine to stay there in his bed with her coral maxi dress's skirt hiked up to her waist and its bodice yanked down, but only if they subtracted Sam and added him instead. But Artie's interruption was the dousing summer storm Mercedes had needed, and she'd scrambled off the bed, the purse she'd come to get gripped in hand, while adjusting her dress as she'd high-tailed it out of the room. That one breath, which had been full of their first _real_ conversation in a year about his family who'd come up for his graduation and reminiscing about _babysitting_, had turned into the next one being stolen from each other's mouths had left her rattled and vibrating the entire drive home.

Her heart couldn't handle another summer of Sam Evans again; each shattering end had left its pieces smaller and harder to find for mending. So she'd made sure never to find herself alone with him again for the rest of that week, even going so far as to calling Kurt to pick up a tin of cookies she'd baked for the Evans siblings for when Sam would drive down to Kentucky that weekend for a few weeks. She'd managed to get that bit of information out before Sam had attempted to slide his tongue down her throat. Kurt had been sympathetically judging when he'd accepted the tin and the extra baggy of cookies for himself.

Of course, Sam had texted a thank you. Then he'd called another thank you under the guise of his siblings _insisting_ they _speak_ to Mercedes to express their gratitude, which had morphed into long conversations with his parents, which had ended with her falling asleep on the phone with him because Sam wouldn't let her off and she'd allowed it. She could do no less after he'd helped get her off with deep, rumbling words and ghosts of long hard fingers gliding over soft, damp places of her body.

That was how they'd spent the summer, connected to the phone as if it'd become an extra limb, she laughing at little jokes and impressions he'd send her in between breaks during long studio sessions or listening to his earnest critiques of tracks she'd send because there were few people she trusted to get her music, and he was one who'd made the cut. It'd seemed distance had forced the reemergence of a friendship not only with Sam, but everyone else in the New York contingent, particularly Blaine. Incidentally, he'd ended up making the "First Listen" list, too, mainly because he'd all but shoo Sam off the phone so he could go into explicit and eloquent detail about how she had the best voice he'd ever heard and any song would be an instant hit once she sang it.

Really, how could Blaine _not_ make the list after such a declaration?

So, really, it'd been killing three birds with one stone in convincing her manager and producers to move to New York, at least for a little while. She was missing her friends something fierce and cabin fever had set in the loft that had apparently become quite cramped. Mercedes was sure the only reason it still stood was because Santana wasn't there. The Latina woman would've probably been the kindle needed to set the entire city block on fire had she been. She liked to start shit just because she could on a good day; tensions in the loft were a veritable dry forest of fuel. Coincidentally, she'd only told Rachel about her plans to move and had asked the other woman to keep it quiet. Rachel had all but squealed her eardrum out and had promised to keep mum, but she was excited because she was missing feminine energy in her life and there were _really_ too many damn people in the loft.

After a hookup from Brandt that led to subletting a really cute two-bedroom brownstone in Brooklyn, Mercedes made her official New York debut a few months after the New Year. She was irritated she felt more settled now that she had during her entire stay in LA, and was annoyed the bright, sunny skies and near-constant perfect, temperate weather paled in comparison to New York's nippy concrete jungle.

There was no escaping the reason why.

It wasn't even June, despite days getting longer with brighter skies. Winter still had a strong enough grip on the city that heavy jackets were wise and scarves and gloves were mandatory. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Sam from looking at her with summer eyes or smiling at her with summer lips, or using even the slightest excuses to graze her with summer fingers that had her trembling and sighing the way she would when a summer breeze would hit her skin while lounging at the lake in his arms. Blaine was a piss-poor buffer, rarely in the apartment to the point she wondered why his stuff was even here. She bet he and Sam had come to an arrangement, as if her rules were as flimsy as paper in a strong wind. Then again, their summer had been postponed, long past due, and Sam Evans was damned and determined to collect.

God help her, she was thawing.


	20. Refuge

**Title:** Refuge  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Sam Evans, Mercedes Jones  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S5E14  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A bad experience at work leads Sam to search for a safe harbor.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This didn't go as I'd originally conceived it. Meh. I hope it's enjoyable nevertheless and please forgive errors!

* * *

><p>Sam sat on the couch with downturned lips and stared at a banana peel sitting on the coffee table with eyes he was valiantly keeping dry. Today had been a ringer of epic proportions, starting with a set call time at the ass crack of dawn in the middle of Central Park, which meant he'd had to forego his daily morning greeting to Mercedes…and Blaine. It'd been an ad for lip balm—the name of the product he'd long forgotten—where he'd thought he'd be fully dressed in a winter coat, scarf, and hat while posing with a tube at his lips. Instead, the look had been he in barely there skivvies against a boulder and the lip balm being Photoshopped in later. Bad enough the client had changed the photo shoot's specs on a dime, but he'd had to get all but naked out in the open where passersby could see. He'd distinctly remembered several people stopped their jogs or walks when his jeans had hit the ground; and considering it was a "balmy" thirty-seven degrees out that morning, Junior was too busy trying to stay warm against his nuts to look any kinds of impressive.<p>

"Eh, we can Photoshop that too," the creative director had said while ogling his cock inside the tiny briefs that were now to be his costume, as if inspecting new snow tires or something equally mundane. The comment had earned a few snickers, especially when Sam, now beet red from the cold and embarrassment, had folded his hands over Junior, reminiscent of the time he'd first debut gold booty shorts on stage at McKinley High.

He'd managed to do acceptable work once the shock of it wore away enough that his brain could function again, slipping into his White Chocolate persona to help himself along. The way he'd heard some of the impromptu audience shouting and squealing, he'd half expected dollar bills to land at his feet. He'd tried to keep the scowl from his face at that as to not ruin the shot; but just like he'd done after his first performance at Stallionz, he'd run off the set when it was over, shaking, and shoved into his clothes as quickly as he could. He'd almost left without the check the client had waiting for him, too focused on not letting tears fill his eyes.

He still didn't know how much he made.

Sam had wandered around a bit after that, head down so the brisk wind wouldn't whip his face, needing to calm himself down, then entered a neighborhood coffee shop that was no Lima Bean and called his mama just so he could hear the voice of someone who loved him. She'd asked if he were okay and he'd said yes, though both knew he'd been fibbing. Thankfully, she'd recognized he wasn't ready to talk about what was bothering him, so she'd distracted him by telling funny stories about his siblings and father until a bell had rung in the background on her end of the line, signaling lunch time at the elementary school where she worked as a media specialist had come to an end.

"You know you can call me any time for any reason, Sammy Boy," she'd told him.

"I know, Mama. I love you."

But he was grown now. He couldn't go crying to his mother every time he had a bad day.

The realization had further depressed his mood, and he'd shuffled into the brownstone twenty minutes later, plopping down on the couch. He'd been there long enough for the sun to work its way from apex to horizon, only getting up to pee and to grab a banana that sat in a bowl the kitchen table. The fruit had tasted like paste in his mouth but he powered through it. It'd been his first meal of the day.

"Sam?"

He startled out of his stupor, hands gripping his thighs as he turned his head to the right to see Mercedes struggling with a few canvas grocery bags. He immediately shot up from the couch to help her, but she carefully dropped the bags and held his hands instead.

"Sam…"

Something in his face must've given him away, for her voice was tender, just like it would be after a long, aggravating day of pizza deliveries. Back then, she'd just hold him and sing to him and make him believe everything would be all right eventually. And he realized she'd spoken to him like that even before they'd become romantic, full of empathy and understanding, when he'd had nothing to give but himself. And in a way, that was all he still had to offer, and she'd yet to think less of him for that. She'd offered a home to him, encouragement every time he'd come in from a go-see or a shoot, smiles and giggles at his attempts to cheer her from her own stressful days, which would make him feel as mighty as Thor. _She_ was the reason he'd never felt homeless even when he hadn't had a pot to piss in that summer, and why he'd been so eager to return to Lima even after his family had found its footing and a house again.

No wonder he'd been so lost this past year. He'd been without her guidance and wisdom, through the faults of both, though he knew the lion's share was his. He didn't regret Brittany nor loving her as completely as he had—his daddy had told him never to go halfway when a heart was involved—but he certainly could've been less dramatic with the wooing. That should've been his first clue it wouldn't last, he doing the absolute most from a place that wasn't absolutely authentic. He should've never said it'd always been her when it hadn't been, and he still cringed over putting cereal on the floor. Not one of his finest moments, even if he'd thought it romantic at the time. And after the breakup and a _very_ long talking-to with his dad, Sam had decided to just enjoy the rest of his senior year and stop trying to "homemake", which was what he'd done with all of his serious girlfriends.

"Ironic that the only one I could actually see you making a home with was Mer—"

Dwight had bit off his laughing comment there, as if remembering the name had become taboo. The one girl Sam had dated when he didn't have a home was the only woman with whom he could make one. That his father had noticed it too was all the confirmation Sam had needed.

Mercedes Jones _was_ his home. His foundation, his rock.

Sighing, he pulled out of his thoughts and dropped his forehead to hers, lacing their fingers together. He smiled softly when she squeezed back.

"That good of a day?" she asked.

"Any day with you is a good day," he replied, smiling even more at her gentle laugh.

"It'll be even better after you help me put up these groceries," she teased with a pleasing lilt.

Chuckling, Sam brushed his nose along her forehead as he stood straighter, having to resort to that since kisses were still off limits. "And this has nothing to do with the fact you're wee, I'm not, and we have no step stool?"

"Ha, ha," she replied, pushing two bags into his chest.

He put up the rest of the groceries once she took out what she'd make for dinner that night. Spaghetti with meat sauce and a salad was on order, and the food smells had his mouth watering. Blaine sent them a text saying he was staying at the loft—_again_. They being left alone with the frequency they were was enough for Sam to start thinking about "homemaking" on a level that made him shake with as much fear as yearning, especially today of all days.

He mostly listened to Mercedes talk about her day while they ate. She apparently was recording a very difficult song, the lyrics to which she still hadn't yet revealed, but she seemed vibrant in her frustration nonetheless. Her hands waved in the air animatedly and her eyes would widen and narrow with the ebb and flow of her story. Her passion was palpable, inspiring, and a little bit of a turn on. The fact she could be this excited about pursuing her dream amid this particular roadblock was as fascinating as it was heartening. Mercedes was amazing, stunning.

Vital.

She stopped talking when he suddenly stood and held out a hand to her, most of his food still on his plate. She took it immediately, a frown furrowing her eyebrows, but she let him lead her to the couch. He sat first but shook his head at her attempt to sit next to him and guided her into his lap. His arms wrapped around her plush waist and he rested his head on her shoulder.

She began to sing softly, sliding her small fingers through his hair, and rocked him. This time, he did let a few tears free, right against the pulse point at her collarbone. In her arms, he didn't feel like a piece of meat, a commodity where only parts of him were worth a damn. He felt substantial and meaningful, precious and whole. It wasn't that he minded underwear shoots—in reality, he couldn't wait for them—but something about how everything had gone down today, not being asked if he were comfortable with the change, that had sent him to a dark, despairing, desparate place where he'd never wanted to travel again.

Sam shuddered and Mercedes held him tighter, letting her lips drift and glide along his temple as she continued singing a song he didn't recognize, but felt all the same.

"It's pretty," he said after a few moments. "What you were singing."

"Yeah?" She chuckled. "Funny how I couldn't sing right until just now."

He nodded, turning his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling deeply, her scent centering him. "Gorgeous."

"Thank you," she replied, and he felt her draw a knuckle down his cheek. He pulled back to see that tender smile on her face, and he couldn't help but return one of his own. She gently burrowed the knuckle into his smile's cheek crease, making them both laugh.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yep," he said, letting the "p" pop, and squeezed her again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, much preferring to stay in this pleasant mental space. "Thanks…for everything."

"You're welcome. Things aren't right in the world if you're not smiling, Sam Evans. Gloom isn't a good look for you."

"It's not?" he asked with an exaggerated gape. She giggled, hiding her face into the top of his head. He held her closer, relishing her.

"No! Boy—!" He'd started tickling her, needing more of her laughter to chase away the lingering melancholy. Soon she was returning the attack, gaining purchase until he was on his back with her above him, holding their hands above his head.

"I win!" she cheered, slightly breathless, but beaming all the same.

"Appears so," he agreed, smiling along with her. "What do you want for winning?"

"For you to be happy," she said quickly, simply. "No more gloomy Sam!"

"You make me happy," he replied, his voice soft and deep with the gravity of his declaration. "And nothing would make me happier right now than if I could hold you just a little while longer."

He watched her close her eyes and let out a long breath, her fingers squeezing his one last time before untangling their hands. His heart freefell into his gut before he realized she was shifting so she could tuck her head underneath his chin. He slowly curled his arms around her shoulders, and both of them sighed.

He'd hold her forever if she'd let him.


	21. Down for the Count

**Title:** Down for the Count  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes Jones/Sam Evans  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S5E15  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mercedes decides her real world needs Sam Evans in it.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> "Bash" was a doozy of an episode, tackling a lot of important issues to various degrees of success, but I think this is a discussion they had to have - a missing scene, if you will. Please forgive errors and I hope you enjoy.

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><p>Mercedes immediately went upstairs to her bedroom once she and Sam entered the brownstone. She heard him say he'd make two mugs of hot chocolate for them, and she trilled an affirmative reply before walking into her room and shutting the door behind her. Leaning against the wood, she let out a long breath, her stomach feeling queasy with the promise of dreams within her grasp and possibility on the horizon.<p>

The prospect of going downstairs was scarier than going to LA.

Sam had indulged in her postponing this moment, although visiting Kurt at the hospital had always been her plan after leaving the recording studio and Sam had had to delay his trip there after receiving her text to stop by the studio, if he could. That Papa Burt had eyed them knowingly, yet with approval, when they'd crossed the threshold into Kurt's room even though she'd unlinked her arm from Sam once they'd entered the hospital stressed the urgency of this talk they needed to have. They couldn't give people the wrong impressions about them…or confirm right ones without talking first.

Mercedes changed with all deliberate speed, mumbling under her breath the points she wanted to raise with Sam as she slipped into an oversized jersey and yoga pants. She scrubbed her face clean of her makeup and moisturized, then wrapped up her hair. She didn't know how long the talk would take, but she knew she probably wouldn't have any energy to mess with her hair after it one way or the other.

She refused to give into the sly smirk flirting with her lips at that thought.

Sam was already in his corner of the couch when she returned downstairs, two steaming mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee table and whatever was left from their tin of weekly cookies that she baked. He stood when she entered the room and didn't sit again until she was settled, using his pinky to point to a large, purple mug.

"I added that hazelnut creamer that you liked," he told her.

"That's sweet, thank you."

He nodded. "No problem."

They reached for their mugs and took long, equilibrium-setting sips. Mercedes curled her legs onto the couch and hugged the mug to her chest. Sam stared at the tin, his thumb running over the rim of his blue mug and his teeth worrying his bottom lip. Her heart clenched at his obvious nervousness and she clucked her teeth that their situation had gotten to this point.

She set her mug down on the coffee table. "Sam."

He looked at her, his fingers tightening around the ceramic. "Yeah?"

"I don't want you to move out. That was rash of me, and I apologize for even demanding that of you."

He nodded, setting his mug down as well, right next to hers. "That's a relief. Blaine and I hadn't had time to look for a new place considering all that'd happened…"

She began to blink fast and hugged a pillow to her chest. How small did she feel right then? Kurt had dived in head-first to confront hate and bigotry, despite all the danger to himself, and she'd been set to cave underneath similar pressure for what? A few albums being sold? Not to be labeled a sellout by a bunch a people she'd never know? She wished someone _would_ accuse her of being such a thing. She knew her history and took great pride in it, and looked forward to passing that history and pride to her own children one day. What their daddy could potentially look like would never change that fact; and frankly, if there were any black people out there—_people period_—who weren't about that life, they didn't deserve to hear her music anyway.

But those were the easy concerns, quick to latch onto; the deeper ones clogged her throat and made her breath rattle in her lungs.

Strong, warm fingers wrapped around her hand and she gripped them tightly, closing her eyes. Sam didn't speak, merely drifted his thumb across her knuckles and waited for her. Such a contrast to the verbal diarrhea he'd had during that disastrous dinner. Sometimes he was so damn _extra _when it wasn't necessary, but his earnestness was one of the things that endeared him to her. Her words still couldn't come, however. There was so much to say, so much to unpack, but she didn't even know where to begin. All she knew was she cared so much about the young man in front of her, as imperfect as he was, but he tried. He tried all the time, strove to make himself better, always attempted to be the best person he could be, even if he crashed and burned horribly on occasion. And Mercedes simply couldn't bear to tell him he'd tanked spectacularly this time.

"Come here, Mercedes."

She immediately shook her head. She didn't deserve his comfort, not right now, not when she was about to confess something she didn't want to voice. But he tugged on the hand he held, and she shifted closer, but not close enough if his frown was any indication.

"It's okay if you still don't want to be with me—"

"I want to be with you so badly it terrifies me," Mercedes interrupted in a rush. "I really just can't believe how deeply you matter to me, Sam, which is why that dinner the other day was so damn hurtful."

She'd stared at the mugs the entire time she'd spoken. Sam let go of her hand, bringing tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away and took a shoring breath.

"I'm sorry," he replied, sounding so much like a kicked puppy.

"But do you know why it was hurtful, though?" she asked, finally looking at him. He was wearing a pout, but not the endearing, exaggerated one so he could get his way. This was his "I done fucked up" one, and he usually went to doomsday scenarios when that one appeared. And this time she couldn't even blame him; she'd ended things before they'd started _again_ and kicked him out in the process, after all.

"Because I embarrassed you and your friends and I was an ass."

"Not just that," Mercedes said, now scooting closer to him and picking up his hand again. She placed her palm against his before threading their fingers together. His hand was large, strongly boned, and solid. He'd never held her or touched her with tentative pressure; he'd always be so sure. Even now, his fingers tightened around hers, giving _her _strength to continue, and she had to grin slightly at that.

"I hurt for you too," she admitted, pressing their joined hands to her heart and closing her eyes again. "I hurt that you thought you had to try so hard with me and my friends. And that your tries went _so_ damn far off the mark it was not just embarrassing, but insulting. It was like you forgot we were people and just saw the color of our skin first. Sam, seriously, it was like all of my worst nightmares about interracial dating coming true, for the both of us, and I was too stuck to do anything about it, to help you and ease your nerves."

She opened her eyes then to look at him. The pout was gone, replaced by a contemplative frown, and he gently untangled their hands so he could clasp his in his lap. The move left her bereft, but she grabbed the throw pillow she'd held previously and brought it to her chest again.

Sam sighed. "I talked to my dad the other night, because I was upset about…_everything_…and when I told him what had happened with us, he groaned so long and loudly he sounded like a volcano about to erupt." She laughed and he flashed a charming half-grin, then he continued. "He said I'd been an insensitive ass and that he and Mom had taught me better than that, which they had. He said he couldn't figure how I thought trotting out almost every black stereotype in the book was a good way to make your friends like me or you want to be with me."

Another relieved giggle burst from Mercedes and she shook her head again. "I mean, you know—do you remember what you said to me when we first met, like _really_ met?"

His smile was certain now as he quoted himself. "'Hi, I just want to say I think your voice is incredible and I'm honored to be singing in glee club with you.'"

The words still made her blush, remembering the first time they'd ever spoken to each other after the glee club where she and Santana had sung "River Deep, Mountain High", and she hid her shy smile in the pillow for a moment. "And then you did that head-duck thing you do with that little half-smile, and then you left. Didn't even give me a chance to say thank you."

"Well, I'd used up all my courage to say that," Sam revealed, his own cheeks turning red.

"Courage?"

"I was a little star struck by you, Mercedes Jones," he explained. "Still am."

"But even then, you went to the substance of me, not to anything about my color," Mercedes said. "How would you have felt if I had approached you with something like, 'Do you have a red neck or nah?' or if I met your friends from Tennessee or Kentucky and asked them if they liked to dress up in white sheets on the weekends?"

The wide-eyed horror on his face had her scoffing, and his subsequent groan and face palm made her laugh softly despite herself.

"Oh, God, I really am an ass," he bemoaned.

"During that dinner, yes you were."

"I'm _so_ sorry, Mercedes. I just wanted your friends to like me, so I tried to study up on black things so I wouldn't be lost and _wow_, that just sounds so offensive now that I said it out loud." He groaned again and dropped his head against the back of the couch repeatedly in self-chastisement.

"No, no, wanting to learn is good," Mercedes insisted scooting closer to him and slipping her hand between his head and the couch. When he dropped his head back once more, he kept it in her hand, turning sad, disappointed eyes to her.

"But seeing color is bad," he tested.

She shook her head, frowning now. "No, it's not _bad_, at least it's not to me. You wouldn't ignore the fact Kurt and Blaine are gay, would you? So don't ignore color in the same way. But also don't make that the starting point and end point of interaction, either, if that makes sense."

His half-smile returned. "I get it, mostly."

She carded her fingers through his hair. "And it's not like you've never been the only white person in a situation before. You have met my parents, remember."

"But that was different. We were a secret then…_ding_."

She laughed. "Ding?"

"No pressure when it was a secret; no spotlight. We could just be. So even when we met our parents, we operated as friends, so I was more relaxed, and maybe you were too?"

She nodded.

He turned to face her and cupped her cheek. "But you also didn't think we'd last, did you?"

She shrugged. "Well, we didn't."

"Not because of me, though."

He'd stated it as the fact it was, but Mercedes couldn't help bristling. "Sam—"

"Never once have I ever wanted to end things with you. _Ever_. Yeah, our timing has sucked and yeah, maybe I do fall quickly and easily; but I've never gotten up from you, Mercedes Jones." He brushed his thumb along the swell her cheek. "I think it's impossible for me to."

She hid her cheesy smile in his palm and he chuckled, shifting closer to her to wrap his other arm around her shoulders. She burrowed into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Well, I'm down there with you too," she murmured against his heart.

He placed his cheek on the crown of her head. "So…are you willing to be down there with me for all the world to see?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Even if that might risk some album sales?"

She cringed. "Ugh, that was awful I said that, wasn't it?"

He squeezed her shoulders. "Yeah, but I knew there was something else, though. You're the same person who dumped your last record deal because they were making you compromise yourself for album sales. That's one of the things I really admire about you, Mercedes, your code of ethics and honor. You wouldn't decide not to be with me if it were just about me being white."

It heartened her to hear him say that. "I'm going to talk to Shaniece and Tesla about that at some point…I don't think they were being fully honest with me, either."

"Will they tell you to break up with me again?"

"Even if they did, it better be for a better reason than for some damn album sales."

He grunted. "Like I'm gonna give 'em one."

She pulled back to give him a stink eye. "Uh, forget about them. Better make sure you don't give _me_ one!"

He laughed a little. "Yeah true." He let his knuckle graze her jaw. "But I guess it's a good thing we're establishing some _ground_ rules, huh, now that I know you're _down_ with me…"

He waggled his eyebrows, and she was so outdone by the adorable awfulness of the pun that she rolled her eyes. Moments later, his lips met hers and she was rolling them again for entirely different reasons.


	22. To Sleep, Perchance

**Title**: To Sleep, Perchance  
><strong>Author<strong>: bana05  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings**: Mercedes Jones/Sam Evans  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: Up through Glee S5E15  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Glee ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Sometimes amendments are necessary.  
><strong>Author's notes<strong>: A Tumblr!anon asked how I thought Sam moved from the couch to Mercedes' bedroom, so here's a fic. Please forgive errors and I hope you enjoy.

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><p>It'd been a spur-of-the-moment decision, really, one brought about with less altruism than selfishness, if Mercedes were completely honest with herself. She'd wanted to sleep, and not on the couch; yet she also wanted Sam's arms around her, but Sam slept on the couch…usually to a loudly playing '80s sitcom on the television. New York still had cold nights and Sam's arms were warmer than the sheets and comforter on her bed—but the bed was infinitely times more comfortable than the couch, and Sam had been a good sport about her ground rules for the past three weeks.<p>

The remote was in her hand with her thumb pressing the power button before she could rethink anything, and Sam's indignant gasp rumbled against her left cheek.

"Mercedes!"

"Time for bed," she determined, grunting a little as she sat up from her Sammy mattress. He was scowling at her, and she was obviously exhausted because she thought he looked adorable.

"I'm not sleepy yet!"

"It's a wonder you get any sleep at all on this damn couch," she muttered, and didn't miss the "no, shit!" expression that flit across his face before he smoothed it out and shrugged.

"I've slept on less and worse," he said, dropping his eyes to the hands that had settled on his belly now that she was longer there. Her heart aching for the memories she knew he was having, Mercedes cupped his cheek and kissed his lips tenderly.

"Partner, let me upgrade you," she sang quietly against his mouth, and she smiled when he smiled.

"How do you mean?"

She shrugged now, standing and holding out her hand to him. He took it immediately and stood, tugging her against him and using his big hands to palm her shoulders. Mercedes pressed herself completely against his front—those wonderful, cold, New York Nights a convenient excuse—and hid a smile against his chest at his low groan.

"An amendment to one of the rules," she informed him, pulling back so she could look into his eyes. They were drowsy but intense, and he squeezed her shoulders before letting his hands smooth down her arms.

"Which one?"

"The 'I stay in my room, you stay on the couch' one."

Instead of jumping at the opportunity like she thought he would, Sam nibbled on his bottom lip and stroked his hands up her arms back to her shoulders, squeezing. "Mercedes, I don't want you to feel like you have to rush into anything. We've only been official-official for two days."

"Baby, I have complete faith we're mature enough to fall asleep next to each other in a queen-sized bed. We've done so before. Remember Nationals?"

"You weren't feeling well during Nationals," he said, now cupping her cheek and frowning. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," she promised, taking his hand and kissing the back of it. "I haven't had a crisis since then; the new meds are really working."

He nodded, dropping their joined hands down between them. "I'm glad, but us being in bed together will do nothing to lessen our sexual chemistry."

"We were just snuggled up on the couch and everything was fine!"

He snorted loudly then. "Not a lot of room, and not the most comfortable surface in the world. If I get you stretched out good and proper, there's no tellin' where these hands will go."

She arched an eyebrow and valiantly ignored the tiny shudder that went through her body and that beguiling prospect. "Well, as long as they stay above the waist and on top of the clothes, we won't have a problem."

He gaped at her. "Mercedes!"

She stepped back then, breaking their hand hold. "Them's the rules! If you want off the couch and in the bed—above the waist, on top of the clothes. Either way, I'm going upstairs because _I_ need a good night's rest. If you stay down here, please keep Edna and them to a quiet volume?"

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but laughed softly when his arm banded around her waist to keep her near.

"Rather hear your snores to that laugh track any time."

She gasped and shoved his shoulder. "Just for that, I should make you stay down here, anyway!"

"But you _won't_," he trilled, kissing her nose, but then he turned serious. "I really appreciate this chance, Mercedes. Thank you."

She pecked his lips. "C'mon. Help me straighten up and turn off the lights down here."

The task didn't take long, and she led him up the stairs hand in hand. When they reached her door, he didn't enter right away, squeezing her fingers.

"Yes?" she asked, slipping her free hand inside the room to turn on the light.

"I don't know if you have a side or not, but can I sleep closest to the door?"

"Why?"

He shrugged, his cheeks turning red. "Just in case something goes down, they'll have to get through me to even have a chance at you."

Mercedes had to laugh a little. "Sam, once you fall asleep, you sleep like the dead!"

"That's only when I feel safe and comfortable, though," Sam admitted. "And the only times I ever really did that was when I was with you."

Her heart went out to him, and she framed his face in her hands. "'Always had trouble sleeping'?"

He shrugged again. "Yeah, although I think I'll have the same problem tonight but for entirely different reasons!"

Chuckling a little and blushing, Mercedes kissed his jaw and tugged him into the room. "You can sleep on whatever side you prefer. The whole point of this is for you to get a good night's rest. I don't think I toss and turn…"

"No, you're pretty stationary once you fall asleep."

"How do you know that?"

He gave her a lopsided grin as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You always end up falling asleep on me when we watch TV at night. Like I'm your pillow or somethin'."

Mercedes' hands flew to her cheeks in embarrassment. "Oh, my God—Sam! Why didn't you tell me or wake me up or something!" All she could think about was how uncomfortable that must be for him, on a hard couch with little room and a _healthy_ woman sprawled all over him…snoring. God, did she drool too?

This time he laughed. "And give up an excuse to hold you? Pft. I like it. Makes me feel needed."

Mercedes' mouth worked, but no sound came out, her heart feeling so light she thought it'd float right out of her chest. The vulnerable half-grin he wore, where his head was dipped down but those green eyes bore into her, tugged a cheesy one onto her own face, and she rushed into his arms for lack of anything else graceful or sassy to do.

"You can hold me anytime you like, Samson Evans," she said after a moment, the promise made against his heart.

"_Mmm_," he intoned, dropping a kiss to the top of her head as his strong arms closed about her. "You know I'm never gonna let you take that back, right?"

After remaining in their standing snuggle for a few more moments, Sam made a detour to the bathroom first to brush his teeth while Mercedes tucked herself into bed. She tightened her scarf to make sure there was no possible way for it to slide off during the night, and she turned down the covers on Sam's side as well. She thought she'd feel nervous about this step, but she felt excited at the thought of a restful sleep for them both. So many times in the mornings Sam would greet her with a yawning kiss, if he wasn't completely knocked and scrunched up on the couch before she had to leave.

She was well on her way to dreamland when she finally heard the door open and close and the mattress sink under her new bed partner's weight. Sam shifted and grunted a bit; but when a pillow rested against her hip, Mercedes opened her eyes and glared at him.

"What the hell is that?"

"Boundary," Sam said with a serious nod. "So I can make sure I respect your rules."

She gave him a hard blink. "What?"

He threw her an irritated look and huffed. "I'm not allowed to touch you below the waist, right?"

"You can't control your hands during the night?"

He shrugged. "You're a temptation, Mercedes; but it's not just the _hands_ I have to worry about…"

She frowned at him with deeper confusion, before her entire expression cleared and her mouth and eyes opened with amused shock. "_Oh_…"

"Yes," Sam said miserably, pouting.

"I mean…um…I've felt _it_ before…you mean it happens just from sleeping too?"

"Dreams have no rules, Mercedes Jones," he said, glaring at her now.

She shifted to face him fully, now curious and a little aroused. "You dream about me?"

His frown deepened, but then he snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not answerin' that."

"Why? Are they bad dreams?"

"They're the best dreams ever, but it'll make me sound like a horny teenager who only wants you for one thing."

She shrugged. "I mean, being in LA, I've seen what single-minded lust looks like, Sam. You've never looked at me that way."

Now he lay on his side to face her as well, though he kept his hands piled underneath his left cheek. "Did it make you uncomfortable?"

She didn't look at him as she shrugged again. "I mean, going from all but nobody looking at me like that to…it just, it made me feel like a piece of meat. Like only parts of me were worth the attention. Don't get me wrong, I'd always wanted to be seen as beautiful and sexy, but a lot about the LA scene made me feel gross. And it wasn't everyone, or really even most, but it was enough people in the high places, and everything was a favor or to get something in return. Nice always had an agenda."

"Well," Sam said, his voice a deep rumble as he cupped her cheek. "You _are_ beautiful and sexy. And you're the most amazing singer I've ever heard. And you're kind and sweet and sassy, and generous and encouraging…you're completely wonderful, Mercedes."

Unbidden tears stung her eyes, and turned her face into Sam's palm, kissing the center of it. Sam scooted closer and pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest. She didn't move the pillow out of his respect for _her_ need for boundaries. Besides, she had clear access to his heart, and that was where she wanted to be the most.

"I'm so glad you're here with me, Sam," she confessed. "I've missed you so much. And I'm sorry for my part in this past year."

"I've missed you too," he replied, kissing her temple. "I just need you to know that whatever happens between us, I'll always be there and supportive of you, okay? You mean too much to me. Being without you last year was like missing an essential part of myself. You're one of my best friends, Mercedes. You know how many times I'd try to catch your eyes in the choir room when fuckery was afoot? Or how many times I'd want to call you about my day until I realized you probably were too busy with your new life and friends and didn't need me anymore, or why else would I have to hear information about you second or third hand? I mean, I knew we broke up, but I didn't think it'd be so complete."

"It had to be, or else I would've leaned too heavily on you, like a girlfriend would."

"I would've let you."

She felt him rest his mouth against her forehead. "I know," she said. "I didn't think that would be fair to either of us. I don't ever want to revisit a Shane scenario, Sam, and that's what it would've become."

Sam didn't reply for a few moments, but she felt him stiffen again. She didn't mean to bring up old wounds, but Sam knew she was telling the truth. "I can appreciate that much better since my relationship with Brittany. I really had feelings for her, and I'm not saying that to hurt yours, but Santana was really pushy about it and kept trying to get us to break up. It pissed me off; and it meant a lot that Brittany didn't just dump me for her."

As much as Mercedes _really_ didn't want to hear this, she patted Sam's chest. "She had feelings for you too. And it wouldn't have been fair to you to just do that because of Santana and what they had."

"Right, which is what I'm gettin' at with what happened between us…I was Santana once, and you were Brittany, and I saw how unhappy that situation made her. And I never really apologized for my part in all that, but I'm doin' it now. I'm sorry."

"Well, it's easy to apologize _now_ when you've got the girl," she teased, laughing when he tickled her sides gently and kissed the bridge of her nose.

"I don't plan on lettin' her go any time soon, either," he said with not a trace of remorse.

"Isn't that what you said about Brittany?" she sassed. "With the Mayan marriage and the 'soul mates'?"

Sam groaned and rolled onto his back. "I'm never livin' that down, am I? I mean, who even told you?"

"Brittany, of all people—and trust me, that's gonna be a good trump card when necessary," Mercedes promised, digging an index finger into his muscular torso. "Don't you think I know what you look like when you begin to fall for someone, Sam Evans? As hard as it was to watch, _I_ had to respect that."

He grabbed her burrowing finger and arched an eyebrow at her. "So, does that mean I can use 'So June' too?"

She gasped. "That is _not_ the same thing and you know it!"

"Cocoa babies? Oh, I think so," Sam insisted, but began to laugh when she tried to tickle him into submission. Eventually, Sam rolled her onto her back, the pillow managing to stay between them, and pinned her hands to either side of her head, kissing her slowly and deeply. She had to admit the pillow was an excellent idea, for he rolled his hips into it, and she arched her body in reply. They both groaned softly and Sam jerked himself away from her. Their pants sounded loud in the room's quiet.

"Damn," she muttered, smoothing a palm over her swollen lips. Her entire body hummed with desire.

"Yeah," Sam agreed on a rough exhalation. "I think burying our true feelings and pretending we never mattered to each other was probably the only way we'd get through the day."

She sighed, remembering how whenever she'd visited Lima she'd make sure not to interact with Sam for too long or else she would've thrown herself at him and demanded he'd never let her go. She'd hated herself for feeling that way, especially when she'd been the one to be pragmatic and end things. Hearing Sam would've been more than ready and willing to catch her, irrespective of his relationship status, left her feeling conflicted, overwhelmed, and a little heady.

Then Mercedes snorted, remembering how she'd _literally_ thrown herself at him not even two weeks ago. He'd been more than happy to catch her then too—daring her, even. "No wonder you were all 'sexual chemistry' out the gate this time!"

She felt Sam's laugh more than heard it. "I know you, Miz Jones. I had to state my case early and often before that nimble mind of yours started finding escape clauses and things. I mean, you did try. 'Been there, done that.' Woman, we barely scratched the surface of _there_ and only dipped a toe in _that_!"

She kept her giggles quiet in deference to a sleeping Blaine down the hall. "Our times together _were_ brief."

"Brief would've been an upgrade," Sam groused.

"But," she continued, sobering, "they were intense. I thought too intense for a bunch of high schoolers? We needed a chance to breathe and see the world."

"Well, I just know it's bleaker without you in it," Sam said, as if he were stating an irrefutable fact. "Air ain't as fresh, either."

Mercedes blushed and burrowed into his chest. "Seriously, Sam, the things you say."

"Are true. I'd never lie to you, Mercedes. I mean everything I say."

"I know. Me too."

Sam simply held her for a while, and Mercedes let the sublime comfort of her bed and Sam's arms drag her eyes closed. They sprung open when Sam turned off the light on his end table, sending the room into darkness. He still felt a little tense to her, so she began to caress his back.

"Please try to go to sleep, baby."

"I make no promises," he said with a little chuckle. "I'll probably just stare at you all night, makin' sure you're actually here in my arms."

She smiled, stretching up so she could press her lips to his. "Does that feel real to you?"

"My dreams can be pretty vivid. Maybe you should do it again but with a little more tongue this time."

She would've, truly, but her joyful giggles made that all but impossible. Thankfully, Sam didn't seem to mind, sniggering himself as he tucked her smiling mouth into his neck and sent her laughing into sleep with various impressions.


	23. Grace on Hiatus

**Title:** Grace on Hiatus  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes Jones/Sam Evans, brief Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S5E16  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In which a series of clumsy events hit the Jovansderson brownstone.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This is a prompt response to szajnie's request of "awkward entrance". Please forgive any errors and enjoy!

* * *

><p>"OH MY GOD!"<p>

The scream and subsequent scatters and thuds had been loud enough to pierce through the Big & Rich Sam had been listening to through his headphones, the horrific sounds jerking him off the bed in an ungraceful hurry as he flew down the stairs three at a time to get to his lady love. He wished he'd grabbed something heavy and dangerous on the way, like one of Mercedes' heels, but he felt he could handle whatever was wrong with his bare hands if necessary.

Mercedes' distress had him that riled up.

She was sprawled on the floor near the den's threshold, legs tangled in the cords of her ear buds, her iPhone strewn feet away with large, paper shopping bags fanned out about like a boxy cape. A two-liter bottle of Seven Up rolled in a semicircle to stop at the bottom of the staircase. Sam froze on the last step as he took in the scene, unsure if he should help her or pursue the danger, until he realized the danger was a hastily dressing Blaine and shirtless Kurt playing peekaboo with the back of the couch. Sam could even smell the air heavy with lust now that the den's door was open.

"Mercedes, are you okay?" Blaine asked, kneeling next to his roommate.

His woman had covered her face with her small hands and was shaking her head. "I'm _so sorry_. If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna attempt to melt through the floorboards now…"

"Uh…" Kurt called, apparently trying to locate his clothes. "We'll be out of your hair in a second—"

"No! I mean, um, please go back in there," Mercedes begged. "I'll just…_die_."

At this, Sam had to bite his bottom lip hard to keep from bursting into giggles, his face as red as Kurt's and Blaine's but for entirely different reasons. The disheveled dapper Dan glared at him as he tried to help Mercedes into a sitting position, but Sam just shook his head and jerked his chin toward the den again.

"I've got her," Sam said, coming towards his girlfriend now that he knew there was no danger at all. He picked up the soda and her iPhone on the way, checking to make sure there were minimal scratches on the device. "And I expect that couch to be Resolved and Febrezed within an inch of its life!"

"We'd barely gotten started—" Blaine began.

"And there won't be any finishing _now_," Kurt harrumphed, now standing since he'd found his pants.

Mercedes whimpered.

"Y'all, _please_," Sam said, crouching down next to Mercedes, who rolled her face into his calf.

After setting down the items he'd had to the side, Sam ran a comforting hand along her shoulders and didn't move until the den's door slid closed again. Then, he sat down next to her tailor style and chuckled when she rested her cheek on his lower thigh.

"First time you've caught them?" he asked, scooting them backwards until his back rested against the stairs' banister.

"Actually, no," Mercedes muttered. "It's just I was listening to my Gospel mix and to open the door to a _moaned_ 'Jesus _Christ_!' right when Dottie Peoples is all 'He may not come when you want Him' was just a bit too much for me to take."

He nodded with empathy. "Yep…sounds like Kurt, all right…"

Mercedes audibly choked on air, then exploded in a loud guffaw that broke the dam on Sam's own laughter. He cocooned her body with his as he kissed her button nose with a sniggered hello, popping his head up when Blaine and Kurt appeared in the foyer only looking slightly disheveled now. The den smelled more like a spring meadow full of baking soda and oxiclean too.

"We're going to the loft," Blaine informed them, linking his fingers with Kurt's. "Rachel has late-night rehearsals again."

"I hope you guys put a sock on the loft's door for her or somethin'," Sam teased, helping Mercedes adjust so she was now cradled between his arms and legs.

Kurt scowled at him, but softened his expression when his blue eyes landed on Mercedes. "I'm sorry we, um, startled you."

She chuckled into Sam's right biceps and shrugged. "I feel like this is a recurring theme with you guys—y'all getting it in on something that belongs to _me_!"

"Yes, well, just wait until the day we catch you and Sam trying for some afternoon delight," Kurt said with a smirk.

Mercedes cackled, nudging Sam's side with her elbow. "Remember when Ms. Pillsbury thought it was just a dessert? Oh, such good, _simpler_ times…"

Blaine looked to them in confusion while Kurt's smirk deepened into a grin; but Mercedes was too busy muffling her giggles into Sam's arm to answer and Sam blushed and shrugged, not really interested in thinking about his former guidance counselor and Mr. Schue doing _anything_ of the sort, even if they were weeks away from having a kid now.

The couples waved goodbye to each other and Mercedes let out a long sigh when the front door closed behind Blaine. She rested her head on Sam's shoulder and he kissed her temple, squeezing her middle.

She laughed lightly again. "I can't believe it actually took that long for it to happen, honestly."

He grinned. "I'd gotten good to tuning them out. The loft has no walls and I know the perfect playlists and volume settings on my phone for the situation."

"You came running down here pretty fast, though. Were you not listening to anything?"

"I was, but I'll always be attuned to your voice, Mercedes Jones."

She smiled sweetly at that, then tapped his knee. "Come on. Not really trying to sit on this hard-ass floor all day since melting through it didn't work."

He helped her gather the shopping bags and they went into the kitchen. They were mostly kitchen items, luckily none of them breakable since it was full of cloths, towels, butter, and silicone bakeware.

"Are you planning to bake something?" Sam asked, stomach already rumbling at the prospect.

She grinned and shrugged. "Depends. Have you been a good boy?"

"The absolute best," he growled, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. She snickered, turning her head to peck his lips. Sam was unsatisfied with that, and gathered her close to give her a proper smooch. The moan she released had him stirring in his pants, so he ended it with a muffled groan and pulled his hips back from her belly. It took her a moment to open her eyes, but they appeared misty when they did.

"Mercedes?" he asked carefully, hands hovering above either shoulder just in case she swooned. He bit his lip to keep from grinning at the fact he _could_ make her, however.

"How slow is too slow?"

He groaned, balling his hands into fists. "So not the right person to ask."

She dipped her head with a cute, shy giggle and stepped back toward the cold stove. "Maybe I should just work on dinner in the meantime."

He nodded, now shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Need any help."

She chuckled throatily, holding out her hands and shaking her head. "I can only imagine the kind of _help_ you'd be offering, Sam Evans!"

"Any kind you ask for," he said, shrugging, but pitching his voice low and soft. "And I do mean _any kind_…"

She closed her eyes, now balling her own tiny hands into fists, and he couldn't refrain from kissing the knuckles of both. She opened her eyes and he hummed, kissing her nose tenderly. "I need to get out of here before I turn _you_ into dinner."

She gaped at him. "Sam!"

He grinned, not the least bit apologetic, and grabbed the bag with the cloths and towels to take down to the basement and wash, needing at least a floor between them to help him cool down. In fact, he just made a complete chore out of it, gathering all of the towels and linens in the hampers and washed them all, making sure to grab his phone, earphones, and latest _Captain America_ comic to keep him entertained.

Steve Rogers wasn't cutting it, however; neither was the thump of the washer as it agitated the clothes clean. All he knew was Mercedes currently upstairs in a hot kitchen about to make them something good to eat, when she was the only thing that made his mouth water. As much as he was glad he'd taken the STD tests a few days ago, he was impatient for the results…impatient for _faster_. It didn't help he'd had to deal with the gentle ribbing of the guys about his being "whipped up from the flo' up" (Artie) and general disbelief he had the wherewithal to keep his hands and lips to himself (Klaine).

"I thought you didn't see any chemistry, _Kurt_," he'd grumbled, sinking low into his rickety plastic chair at the clinic as he pretended to be super interested in the _US Weekly_ magazine he'd picked up. Artie had been getting tested at the time and Sam had been the only one left waiting to hear his name called.

"Oh, c'mon, Sam, that was _sarcasm_," Kurt had replied. "Besides, the fact she went back to you and you're willing to wait for her _must_ mean there's something real between you two."

"A lot of squealing and giggling, that's for sure," Blaine had groused. "Mercedes Jones has a range on _her_…"

Sam could only glower, both in defense of his woman and unwillingness to admit a lot of the squealing and giggling was actually he.

He played Pet Rescue Saga on his phone for the remainder of his wait since saving cute, animated animals rarely failed to keep him in an irritable mood. He was all set to beat his currently level when his text messaging alert sounded.

Mercedes. Dinner was ready.

He texted he'd be up soon, lucky enough the washing cycle was nearing its end. It buzzed done for a second before Sam threw the damp items into the dryer and put it on the longest setting. It thumped even louder than the washing machine in a rhythm he'd be more than happy to replicate with Mercedes at night the very _instant_ she gave him the go-ahead.

"Ugh," he groaned, shoving a hand through his hair as he stomped up the steps. And he'd thought being with Quinn had been bad.

Of course his lady had to look adorable in a purple apron with a zebra-print star and "Diva" written in script atop it. Apparently it'd been a birthday gift from Puck of all people, and Sam wondered if one the main reasons he'd gotten it was because of how tightly the star stretched across Mercedes' chest.

The fucker.

"Hey! I hope you have an appetite," Mercedes said, placing two plates on the perfectly set table, but she frowned at his scowl. "What's wrong?"

"Did you ever wear that apron for Puck?"

Mercedes chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Once or twice, why?"

"Hmm," Sam intoned darkly, going to the oven to inhale the sweet smell coming from it. "What are you baking?"

"A test," Mercedes answered, laughing a little and taking off her apron. She was wearing a form-fitting blue and heather-gray long-sleeved tee that said UCLA and black yoga pants that defined every single curve she possessed. His girlfriend was the epitome of rude just then. "I even saved the batter in the bowl for you."

Sam brightened considerably at that. "Really?"

"Yep, and it's _good_ and _sweet_."

"So it tastes like you, does it?" Sam replied, grinning at her blushing smile. He framed her face in his hands and let his tongue glide along her lips. "I know I'm gonna love it."

She smiled against his lips, her hands squeezing his wrists. "Sam Evans…"

"You are so cute," he murmured, moving his lips to her round cheeks, then to her nose. "How are you so damn cute?"

"Baby…"

_Jesus_. She said it all breathy with a little hitching squeak, which meant she was turned the hell on. It took every bit of willpower not to throw her in a fireman's carry and bound up the stairs, but he owed it to both of them to wait until they knew he was clean and she was absolutely ready.

"I know you're not on the menu." _Yet_.

"I hope you like what's on it, though," she said, puckering her lips for one last, light kiss before going to the table.

Mercedes had prepared a large salad with thick, pan-seared chicken strips atop baby spinach leaves, grape tomatoes, and couscous, and drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette. As they ate, they talked about their day and plans for tomorrow. He was scheduled for at least four go-sees while she would be working on a paper for one of her UCLA extension classes.

"Me and the Brooklyn Public Library catalog will be getting very acquainted the next few days over copyright law."

"Sounds like fun," Sam drawled around his last bite of his salad.

"It'll be a blast, I'm sure!" she said with a snort, finishing off her own meal.

"Well, I'll make sure dinner will be ready. It might be delivered in some paper or plastic containers, but it'll be good," he promised, standing and kissing her temple as he cleared the table of the empty dishes. The alarm on the oven went off and Sam perked up tremendously, making Mercedes laugh and thwack his stomach with the back of her hand as she passed him.

"Stick with the batter! The cake still has to cool."

"Cake!" Sam cried, punching the air midway through loading the dishwasher.

"Yes. If it's good, I'm bringing it to the potluck on Monday," Mercedes said, putting on oven mitts. "As a pre-celebration for Rachel's opening night."

"But this cake's just for me, right?" Sam asked seriously.

She eyed him. "And me and Blaine and whoever visits and decides they want a piece."

Sam pouted, closing the dishwasher a little harder than necessary. "Isn't that nice of you."

"Sam!" she chastised on a laugh, carefully pulling out the Bundt cake pan and setting it onto a cooling rack. Sam gazed at the pretty, golden-brown cake longingly, feeling drool pool at the corner of his mouth. He shook himself out of his stupor, using his tongue to gather the moisture, and set about hand washing what couldn't fit in the dishwasher. He'd almost unthinkingly sent a hot spray of water into his batter bowl, and jerked the spout in time to soak the front of his shirt.

"Jeez!"

"What?" Her eyes widened at the puddle of water forming between his feet. "Sam!"

"Accident?"

Mercedes groaned and tore off a wad of paper towel sheets from the roll while Sam took off his T-shirt to help absorb the water. Mercedes eyed him in annoyance at the move, then something else entirely as her gaze roamed his chest.

"Like what you see?" he asked, smirking.

"You know what…?" She rolled her eyes and shoved the sopping paper towels into chest. "You handle this while I flip over the cake."

"_Mmm…cake…_"

He'd said it like Homer Simpson would, grinning widely at Mercedes' snicker. He decided not to go get another shirt, thinking the sooner he finished washing the dishes the sooner he could get to his batter. But Mercedes beat him to it first, taking up a large spoonful from the bowl and slipping it between her luscious lips.

"Hey!"

"What? Wait—you haven't had any yet?"

He glared at her and shook his head, setting the frying pan hard in the drying rack.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Here, baby," she cooed, slipping more onto the spoon and holding it up to him. His glare lessened, but he still frowned as he swallowed the very delicious batter from the spoon.

"I can't believe you're making me share my cake!" he whined, opening his mouth for another spoonful as he washed and rinsed the frying pan's lid.

"It's not _your_ cake—didn't we establish that already?" Mercedes asked, taking the spoon to gather up more batter. She waved the laden spoon around his mouth before juking him and slipping it into hers instead, doing a little bounce at her coup.

Sam shrugged, as if nonchalant, then bent toward her ear while she took more batter for the spoon. "But I wanna put my name on it," he sang, sucking on her earlobe.

Mercedes gasped and coughed, spitting out the spoon and bracing herself against the counter next to the sink. Sam's eyes widened, hastily drying his hands on his jeans so he could ease her coughing fit with strokes along her back. When Mercedes finally caught her breath again, she slammed her fist against his forearm—not hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to be noticed.

"Why would you do that?!" she hissed, her voice still raspy. "Damn near died on some cake batter!"

"I'm sorry, but you were eatin' my batter and then won't let me have any cake—!"

"I said to _share_ the cake, Sam!"

"I'm not sharin' _your_ cake, Mercedes!"

She opened her mouth, but then paused as the double entendre finally hit. Her eyes widened, narrowed, then squeezed completely shut. "Sam! Oh, my god! What's with the men in this house today? First Blaine and now you? If I'd known I'd be rooming with horndogs…"

Sam snorted and shrugged, setting the cutting board he'd just rinsed off to dry in the rack. "You live with two men who are in love and have high sex drives—what did you expect?"

Mercedes made a strangled sound. "What?"

"I mean, there's no reason to get offended," Sam said, frowning at her bewildered gaze at the chrome kitchen spray as he gathered the last of the batter on his fingers and sucked on them before washing the spoon and the bowl. "I won't attack you or anything. And Blaine and Kurt _did_ clean the couch—I checked before I came in the kitchen—"

"You're in love?" she asked, her voice so quiet he had to strain to hear. "With _me_?"

It was his turn to pause, the water now filling up the sink. "Oh, crap."

"_Crap_?!"

"No!"

Sam quickly stepped in front of her to keep her from fleeing the kitchen. "No, not crap! Loving you is not crap—it's the exact _opposite of crap_! I'd just—blurting it out to you like that wasn't part of the plan."

"You had a plan on how to tell me you love me?"

He side-eyed her. "Mercedes Jones. I am the king of big, romantic gestures—of course I had a plan!"

She crossed her arms underneath her breasts and cocked out a hip. "Oh, well, what was it?"

"I can't tell you _now_!" he said, huffing at her audacity to even ask. "I'll have to save it for another occasion. And, you know what? This is sort of a bit of payback, for the times you've told me you loved me while _breaking my heart_!"

She let loose an indignant gasp. "Sam!"

"Oh, you know it's true too!" he said, wagging a finger and peering at her. "Right before the move to Kentucky. During Valentine's Day your senior year. In the airport before you went to LA—you just like dropping 'I love you' bombs on poor Sam Evans then flitting out his life all fancy free!"

He could see her shake with her rage, but he was too in his hubris to be afraid of what that meant.

"Well how's this for a 'bomb and flit'—I love you, too, Samson Evans!"

And damn if she didn't flit and switch right out of the kitchen, Sam's attention on that lovely behind of hers as she walked away from him—

_Record scratch._

"Hold up."

He raced up the stairs, reaching the bedroom door just as she was leaving. They stared at each other for a split second before Sam reached for her and lifted her into his arms.

"Say it again," he demanded, one arm bracing her underneath her butt while the other held her cheek. "Lady, say it again."

Her legs tightened about his waist and she dropped her forehead against his, her hands cupping his nape. "I love you, Sam."

He closed his eyes, letting the declaration permeate every cell in his body, then kissed her softly. "I love you so much. I'll never stop. No matter what happens."

It took him three tries to enter the room, twice running her into the door frame because her lips pulled all his focus and the third because he just stopped in the middle of the threshold to stick his tongue down her throat. The sweetness of the cake batter with the spicy saltiness of their chicken salad was an addicting combination on Mercedes' tongue, and he tried to take all the flavor for himself. He hiked her up once to keep her secure as he finally walked more than three steps, the soft feel of her against his bare torso making him keen low in his throat.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," Mercedes chanted, her mouth moving all along the planes of his face to the column of his throat. She sucked on his Adam's apple and he grew as hard as steel in his jeans. He thrust before he could stop himself, and her answering tilt had him collapsing them both onto the bed.

Mercedes burst out laughing. "Finally got too heavy, huh?"

"Shush you," he said a little breathlessly, but he laughed as well. "How else do you worship a goddess but on your knees?"

She gave him a slow, seductive smile that had him wanting to press his mouth and the fount of her, but he settled for the lips on her face instead. Mercedes sighed into his kiss, her little hands gliding along the muscles of his back and sides that had him groaning and grinding into the mattress. God above, he wanted her so badly he could barely think straight, but he had enough brain power to end the kiss so they wouldn't go too far.

Mercedes reared up and kissed his shoulder, letting her tongue wet the tendon above his collarbone, and he groaned.

"Honey-girl, we have to stop," he moaned, turning his head to tug her upper lip with his teeth.

She whined, her lips now at his pulse point. "Why?"

He smiled at her even as his hand slid underneath her shirt to palm her belly. She hissed in a sharp breath and stiffened.

"That's why."

Her face fell. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," he promised, pulling his hand away and kissing the space where his hand had been over the top she wore. "Only when you're ready and not a second sooner."

"What if I feel ready?" she asked, but then her eyes widened. "What if I _never_ really feel ready?"

He gave her a lopsided smile. "We'll know when the time's right, I promise." He kissed up her belly, bypassing the loveliness that was her chest to continue up her sternum to her collarbone and neck. "In the meantime, we cuddle and snuggle the hell out of each other, with some occasional heavy petting above the waist and on top of the clothes."

"You're not wearing any clothes above the waist right now, Mr. Evans," she said primly, smiling when he smiled against her mouth.

"You can touch me however you like, darlin'," he decreed. "_Includin'_ below the waist underneath the clothes…"

Her laughter was initially just a full-body vibration that eventually became an audible chortle. Sam loved the taste of her mirth and the feel of her small hands settling low on his bare waist. He loved the feel of her thick thighs cradling his hips. He curled his hand to her back and brought her flush against him as they continued to kiss, her body basically hovering over the bed.

He could die kissing her and be perfectly content.

"Whew!" Mercedes cried a few seconds later, breaking the kiss with a loud smack. "I was about to black out for a second!"

He let her settle completely on the bed, his hands holding either side of her torso. "Sorry."

"_Mmm_, no, don't apologize. If I didn't need to breathe, I'd probably never stop kissing you."

Grinning, he brushed their noses together and squeezed her sides. "Same for me too."

Mercedes cupped his cheek and stroked it with her thumb for a bit. "Okay, let me go downstairs and put up the cake. It should be cool enough to powder now—"

"Oh, _no_!"

Eyes wide enough to roll out of his head, Sam popped off the bed and ran down the stairs. He skidded to a stop just beyond the threshold when he saw the faucet shut off and Blaine Anderson with a sizable hunk of Mercedes' cake cradled in his hand and crumbs around his mouth.

Blaine narrowed his eyes at him, then the floor where the entire roll of paper towels was now soaking up the excess water on the floor. "Faucet?"

Sam glared back. "_Cake_!"

"What the hell?!"

They both turned their attention to Mercedes, who scowled at the scene before her with her hands on her ample hips. She then twiddled her index and middle fingers at their faces. "The both of you…"

She didn't even bother finishing her comment, simply leaving the kitchen with her hands thrown up in the air, outdone.

Both men sighed.

"The other towels are in the dryer still," Sam informed Blaine. "I'll go get them."

"Ugh, don't know why I didn't think to look there," Blaine chastised himself, but then shrugged and had another piece of his cake.

"If she kicks me out the room tonight, I'm sharin' the bed with you," Sam warned.

Blaine sputtered. "But the couch?"

"Too soon, dude," Sam declared, and Blaine nodded his head once in concession, sighing.

"I'll find some good fics, then," Blaine promised, stuffing a huge bite of the cake into his mouth. "I'm in the mood for fluff."

"Fluff is perfect," Sam proclaimed, and held out his palm. "Give me some."

"This cake is delicious," Blaine praised, nodding to an uneaten corner of his wedge. "My compliments to Mercedes."

Sam commandeered a large portion and halved it with his teeth. The batter preview didn't do this cake any kind of justice, and his knees weakened with how sweet and airy it was.

"Think a slice with a dollop of ice cream will keep me in the room tonight?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No," Blaine answered with a snicker. "But it couldn't hurt tomorrow's chances…"


	24. Loopholes

**Title:** Loopholes  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes Jones/Sam Evans  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Up through _Glee_ S5E16  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sam's rules on touch are a little more lenient than Mercedes'.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> This is partly in response to a prompt by chorrd on Tumblr, and also a missing scene to explore how Mercedes could've gone from "until marriage" to "weeks or months". Please forgive any errors and enjoy!

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><p>Mercedes' fingers pulled on his shirt so tightly the collar of it almost choked him, but having her let go of him was simply out of the question. Her tears soaked the front of his shirt, and he shook with the force of her shudders. Every hiccup she made splintered his heart and every sigh against his chest healed it again. He buried his nose and mouth to the crown of her head and let the wide palm of his hand smooth against her back, the other cradling her head to him. She was still wearing her coat. They were still standing in the threshold of the living room's door.<p>

They'd been there for at least thirty minutes.

They clearly had more to discuss. That it'd even crossed her mind he'd end things with her had thrown him into stutters instead of the speech he'd planned to give her. Blaine and Kurt had even practiced it with him after they'd help him set up the brownstone with candles, with Blaine being Mercedes and Kurt giving director's notes on Sam's speed and pitch of delivery. When they'd finally deemed everything perfect, Kurt had wanted to set up a webcam in the corner so he could watch the scene unfold live, but Blaine had reeled his fiancé in from that. Sam quirked a smile at the memory of their enthusiasm over his gesture, and inhaled deeply when Mercedes' fingers finally unclenched from shirt. The shudders faded into nothingness, and her breathing evened out. Sam continued to stroke her back, but he did move his other hand from her head to her cheek as she pulled back to meet his eyes. She parted her lips as if to speak, but he placed his thumb over the.

"Take a shower," he suggested. "Blaine has some leftovers, and I'll warm them up and bring them upstairs after I blow out all of these candles—"

"I can help—"

His thumb applied pressure to her lips, making her frown, and he grinned slightly. "No, you can take a shower and relax while I handle all of this."

"But—"

He kissed her then, chastely, barely a brush of lips, but he felt her whole body sigh against him, and she finally relented.

The entirety of his tasks took an hour and a half to complete, his eyes burning from all the candles he had to put out and his stomach grumbling from the smells of Blaine's leftovers warming in the microwave. He set the food, utensils, and two glasses of water on a tray before carefully carrying it up the stairs to their room.

He almost dropped it when he saw her sitting at the foot of the bed wearing nothing but a bath sheet with her back to him, water droplets still clinging to her shoulders and arms. The ends of her hair had started to curl in response to her shower, but they were otherwise dry; and Mercedes hadn't turned to face him, even though he knew she knew he was there by the way her body had stiffened.

He started backing out. "Uh, sorry."

"It's okay," she said softly. "You can come in." Her voice was firmer, but had lingering traces of emotion that didn't sit right with him. He placed the tray down on the dresser across from the bed and sat beside her on the bed's foot, close enough to touch but far enough away to respect her space. He felt like he did when she'd initially invited him to share her room…her bed. He'd gotten no sleep that first night, too worried he'd scare her with his erection, too awed he had the opportunity to hold her in his arms all night at all. In the three weeks since then, however, he hadn't once had to creep downstairs to watch _The Facts of Life_. But these past few nights, Lucky Charms and the gang at Edna's Edibles had been his nocturnal BFFs.

He rubbed his palms over his thighs. "Do you want me to leave? Sleep on the couch again tonight? Because I totally will."

She shook her head, but then she shifted to face him. He kept his eyes trained on her face, wondering why she seemed so sad.

"You're _not_ 'just anyone', Sam, and I'm so sorry I said that to you."

He shook his head. "It's okay—"

"No, it's not," she said sharply, but her frown was distracted instead of focused on him. "And how I automatically assumed you were being nice because you wanted my good-good and you had to check me there, too, and then…that whole situation with my friends and me trying to kick you out. Sam, I've asked so much of you, yet you're still here, exhibiting the patience of Job. Anyone else would've been long gone."

"But I'm not anyone else," he reiterated. "I'm the man who loves you." He took a deep breath when her face started to crumple again. "And I'm not exactly sure why you'd think I'd ever choose sex over you."

Mercedes shrugged, her fingers playing with a button on the comforter. "You're a nineteen-year-old guy."

Sam cursed under his breath at his thoughtless words said in the midst of his frustration. She'd been laying herself out there and he'd been caught up in his own reactions. She hadn't blamed him for it, either, keeping her to space all week as he'd voluntarily decided to sleep on the couch again, looking at him as if it were only a matter of time before he walked out of the door for good. And up until right then, he'd thought she'd been angry and disappointed. Now he realized she'd been terrified.

"Come here," Sam said, opening his arms. To his surprised delight, a towel-clad Mercedes settled into his lap, wrapping an arm wrapped around his neck so she could hug him as she cuddled him. He could feel the dampness of the bath sheet seep into his jeans and shirt, and the soft warmth of her sent his body stirring. She smelled like cocoa butter and her, and he ran his nose along her right temple and hairline.

"I meant what I said downstairs," he said, letting his lips graze her forehead as she turned to press her mouth to his throat. It wasn't a kiss she gave, but more like a need to make sure he was actually there. He was; he would be. There was no place he'd rather be than with her. He'd done the living without her twice now. He'd rather not go through that experience again.

He held her closer, Mercedes gripping the knot near her left arm pit to make sure the bath sheet stayed in place. "When I prayed, I asked God for strength to make the right decision, because the flesh can be _very_ weak, but then I realized something."

"What?"

"The amazingness of sex with someone else doesn't even compare to one of those soft smiles from you, the ones when your eyes shine and you tilt your chin down a little as you look at me. It's so tender, and it makes me feel so strong, and humbled."

Her fingers played with the collar of his shirt a bit before finding their way to his pulse point. "Sam…"

He nodded and kissed her forehead. "It's not the sex I want or even would miss, not really. Sex is easy. Any time I've started gettin' a little fresh with you isn't simply because I'm horny. It's because I can't help but want to express just how much I love you, and I forget you're not ready for that much _expression_."

She laughed quietly at that, making him smile in return. "It can be a bit overwhelming. It's like it doubles back and down what I'm feeling for you, and I can't control it."

"You're not supposed to," Sam said gently, but inside he was fist pumping the air at that revelation. "It's about letting go, giving up control, being completely in the sensations. It's about feeling the most raw. For some people, that's quite a pleasure rush because that's all the feeling that's there. It's like letting loose a release valve. For others, like you, that also means being at your most vulnerable. It's sacred, like you said, and I respect that about you, Mercedes."

"Was it ever sacred for you?" Mercedes asked.

"Not really," Sam said, shrugging. "And not because I didn't necessarily want it to be. But hormones are hard to deny. My first time was a release valve, I have to admit. But the rest were about both of us getting pleasure from the other." He cupped her cheek and drew her head away from him so he could look into her eyes. "With you, any time we'd get hotter and heavier, it'd always been about expression; and if or when we decide to take that step, it would be the most sacred of acts. When I need to…_release the valve_…I have, erm, _other ways_ I can do that, uh, on my own." And he did already, daily, sometimes in multiples. His face burned at the confessions and the memories.

Mercedes bit her lip, peering at him. "And what if…I want to help you with that?"

His breath became trapped in his throat and his eyes all but bulged out of his sockets. Something _else_ began to bulge, too; but when he tried to remove Mercedes from his lap, she hunkered down, making him hiss and moan.

"_Mercedes_—"

"'High, dry, and suffering,' that's what you said," she repeated, but she'd thankfully stopped moving. "And I'd laughed you off, but that wasn't fair. That's _not_ fair that I don't give you some release, Sam. That I don't let you be fuller with your expression. That I'm too much of a prude to."

"You're not—" Her side-eye cut off his words. "Okay, you're really _innocent_."

Mercedes giggled quietly. "I'm a prude. And being in LA and that whole experience with my last producer has made me even more body conscious in a lot of ways than when we were last in a relationship. But then the fact we practically ripped each other's clothes off at Artie's graduation party really scared me. I'd felt myself surrendering and I would've done anything with you had Artie not rolled in. After one conversation in how long, my first time would be on some purses and jackets in a friend's bedroom? That's just not how I envisioned it."

Sam let his thumb stroke her soft cheek, but he couldn't quite quell his naughty smile. "That's why all the rules about over the clothes and above the waist and things."

She rolled her eyes at his smile but nodded. "Your touch makes me see stars. I shoot straight to Pluto with you."

"That's how I feel every time I look at you, so…" He shrugged, and that smile of hers appeared, making his heart knock against his ribs. His muscles tensed against the need to lay her flat on her back and send her right out of the Milky Way.

He cleared his throat and tilted his chin to the long-forgotten tray of food. "That's probably cold now. I'll go reheat it."

Her replying grin was decidedly _not_ innocent, nor was the kiss she placed on the corner of his mouth. "Okay."

Sam took his sweet time going down the stairs and reheating the food, needing to cool down before going back upstairs. He decided to eat his portion downstairs to extend the time apart, then let hers reheat as he straightened up the kitchen. He sincerely hoped Mercedes was clothed, or else he'd have to retreat to the couch after a very long, very icy shower.

When he returned to the bedroom, Mercedes was in bed underneath the covers, wearing her usual sleep shirt and scrolling through her phone with her hair wrapped in her floral-print satin scarf. He smiled at her and she returned it, that dewy one, and he had to kiss her lips as he placed the tray in her lap.

"_Bon appétit_."

She giggled against his lips at his exaggerated French accent. "Did you already eat?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna take a shower, and then I'll take the tray back down."

"I can take the tray down when I'm done, Sam."

He conceded that point with a nod, then gathered his sleepwear and toiletries before heading to the bathroom. He didn't have the water too cold, but it wasn't the usual hot one, either. He touched himself a little but didn't come, his reprieve downstairs having taken the edge off enough that a full release wasn't necessary. There was something to be said about living on a knife's-edge of tension. It was deliciously frustrating, being constantly filled up instead of frequently emptied. Not that he'd been flagrant or even regular in his occurrences; he wasn't built for hookups, more of a serial monogamist than anything. But he hadn't been in a relationship since Brittany, and Penny the school nurse had never progressed beyond the dating stage. Tina had been a mutual indulgence of curiosity.

He understood Mercedes' need to be more composed this time around now. During their second try especially, there'd been no doubt he'd only had eyes for her, considering his dogged, single-minded pursuit of her. Now, after the lack of talking, his tries with other girls, and this rush of long-buried feelings coming to the surface again, he could see why she needed security from him. He'd always dived in, not scared of being overwhelmed; she never had. Taking it slow was her way of making sure her heart would be safe; and maybe her avoidance of him, which had really and truly bothered him all last year, had been she doing the best she could to mend after their breakup. Conversely, he'd tried to find others to give all these feelings to; but of course, they didn't stick. Those feelings were Mercedes'. Always had been.

More than likely always would be.

He brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas, then reentered the bedroom. It was empty, but he heard the clink and clang of dishes as Mercedes washed and dried them from downstairs. Sighing, he put his day clothes in the hamper and hung his towel on the hooks inside the closet door, then lay atop the covers on his side of the bed and closed his eyes, resting his head on his hands.

Sam was on the brink of a doze when Mercedes entered. He didn't open his eyes when the door closed, but the air shifted, the knife-edge tension building and making his skin tighten and prickle when she didn't immediately come to the bed. His breathing deepened, his fingers curled into his hair, and his body began to hum as he felt her eventually draw closer, especially when she didn't walk around the bed to her side and instead approached him with soft lips to his forehead that had him sighing out an exhalation. Then the kisses traveled south down his nose, and his "in the pants" feelings quickened to life.

"Lady," he murmured into the kiss she pressed to his lips. He didn't dare remove his hands from behind his head. If he touched her, he'd explode.

She kissed his cheek, her hand stroking his chest over his shirt. "You've done a lot of expressing today, Sam. I really want to express myself too."

He shook his head and eased it out of her mouth's reach, finally opening his eyes. Her pout almost had him kissing it away, but this was important for him to say. "I mean what I said. I didn't do this to change your mind about having sex with me. I can express my love for you outside of the physical."

She nodded. "I know. But I also think I need to learn how to be comfortable expressing my feelings for you in a physical way too."

He grinned at her. "You hold my hand all the time. You're the biggest snuggle monster I know. You give the best kisses, lady."

"And you've initiated most of that," she said, her hand now stroking from his chest toward dangerous territory. He couldn't stop her—didn't _want_ to stop her—but his breath caught in his throat when her tiny, thick fingers teased the elastic of his pants, then slid underneath his shirt to caress his bare abs. He hissed out an exhalation, and her eyebrows rose.

"Really?" she asked. "Just with this?"

"I love it when you touch me," Sam admitted, his eyes locking with hers. "I love _you_."

She kissed him again, more assertively this time than the barely there contacts from before. Her tongue teased his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth to let it inside. The rough flats of their tongues glided against each other as Mercedes climbed above him. He groaned and she whimpered, both of her hands now underneath his shirt and bracing against his chest.

"I love the feel of you," she whispered when they broke apart for breath. "You're so strong and sturdy."

"And you're soft and pliant," he replied, his lips pulling into a half grin, but then his eyes rolled in the back of his head when her thumbs thrummed his nipples and she settled firmly on his erection. They both gasped loudly, one of his hands springing from the back of his head to clutch the comforter in a death grip.

"Oh, Jesus…"

Mercedes' voice was whispery, as if she were in confessional, and her palms splayed along his chest as if in prayer. Sam arched his back and grunted, trying to shove his ass into the mattress instead thrusting up toward the heat between her ample thighs. A quick glance told him they were bare, and he breathed harshly through his nose at the fact she'd opted for shorts tonight. His heartbeat was a throb in his cock, and he was close to giving himself a headache with how hard he was gnashing his teeth. His balls tightened and his dick twitched.

"Sam? Are you okay?" she asked, her voice meek. She'd started to shift off, but he released the comforter to brace her hips instead. He'd managed to remember the rules in his haze: above the waist, atop the shirt.

"Give me a second," he panted, blinking furiously at the ceiling. He had to reel it in; freaking out Mercedes wasn't an option right now.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to…drop _there_…"

His laugh was wild. "You can settle there any time, honey."

"Sam!"

"It's just one of my _expressions_," Sam teased gently, and finally felt under control enough to look at her. Her big, brown eyes blinked at him with concern, curiosity, and arousal. He valiantly tried to ignore that last one. "I'm okay," he insisted.

"You don't look it," she returned, eyeing him, but then she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before continuing. "Is there anything I can do?"

His hand balled her sleep shirt into his fist and focused on the ceiling again. "Just, don't move for a minute."

She was quiet for a moment, but then, "Would my moving help you?"

"Help…me?" he repeated slowly, stupidly, setting his eyes back on her to make sure this was real because he was _obviously_ letting his imagination take over right now.

She shrugged, now playing with the hem of his shirt, not looking at him. "_Release the valve_?"

"_Fff_—!" He tugged on her shirt as his brain short-circuited around what she was offering, which jerked Mercedes from her hovering brace to sprawl on top of him in a heap. Apologies tumbling out of her mouth, Mercedes tried to get off of him, but her hand landed on the one place Sam had really needed it not to be.

They both hissed.

Sam was going to start sobbing in a second. Her hot little hand made him hurt with sweet anticipation, and he tightened his hands in his hair and her shirt to keep from moving her hand up and down his length. But then, he realized she hadn't taken hers away, that her fingers were actually mapping the ridge where the head and the shaft met over his pants.

"Mercedes," he croaked, now placing his hand atop hers to remove it, but her hand curled around him.

"I love you, Sam. Let me help you."

In that moment, the lust that had been overtaking him turned into a surge of love. He wouldn't deny her this; not simply because he yearned for the relief, but because this was she adding to her expression of love for him. Her hand trembled underneath his, but he squeezed it, then splayed her hand over his cock completely. Her lips met his, but it wasn't a kiss, more like sharing each other's breaths as her hand molded over him.

"I hope I do this okay for you," she whispered.

"It's impossible for you to mess up," he assured her, stroking up and down her arm. "I'm close as it is."

She did kiss him now, sweetly. "Show me what to do?"

He tugged on her upper lip with his teeth. "Would it freak you out if I asked you to pull down my pants and underwear?"

She took a deep breath. "A little."

"Then I won't—"

She'd grabbed the elastic bands of his pants and boxers and jerked them down quickly, as if she were ripping off a Band-Aid. Sam groaned as the cool air of the room hit his bobbing cock, drops of pre-ejaculate already seeping from its head. He was so glad he'd decided to cut his hair, or else he would've snatched himself bald at the feel of Mercedes' tentative fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft.

"How can it be hard and soft at the same time?" she asked, gazing at his length with a perplexed frown, but that arousal hadn't gone away.

"Oh, my _God_…" He could literally feel his mind turning into mush. Her touch felt so different. She couldn't grasp as much of his cock as he could, but her hand was so soft, like a tiny, warm cradle, and he felt his balls draw up even more.

"Sammy?" Mercedes asked. "Should I move my hand?"

He had to take several deep breaths before he could answer. "Slow for now."

It was as if she made sure every part of her hand touched every inch of him. Her pinky traced a particularly prominent vein as she glided her hand up and down his shaft, her middle and ring fingers circling his tip each time she reached it. Sam controlled the pressure of her hold for the first few strokes, but then his hand fell away as he became caught up in the pleasure. Instinctively, it seemed, she started stroking faster, harder, and his hips began to flex counterpoint to her ministrations.

"Sam?"

He opened eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed to gaze at her. "Yeah?"

She smiled softly at him. "You look beautiful right now. The faces you're making are the same ones you do when you're singing one of your favorite songs."

He grasped her cheek and pulled her down for a kiss. "_You're_ my favorite song."

She snorted, squeezing his dick a little harder. "I sure I am right now!"

"Always," he insisted, kissing his way to her ear. "_Mercedes_."

Sam smiled at her giggle, knowing his voice hadn't been the greatest just then, but he was approaching his brink fast. He pulled her earlobe between his teeth, and her gasp had him jerking in her hand.

"_Sam…_"

"I love it when you sing for me," Sam confessed. "But I can't wait to make you hit some high notes."

"Samson," she moaned, and he thrust himself deeper in her hand.

"Would you sing all high and pretty for me, lady?" he asked, his voice growing deeper, yet feathery as his mouth drifted along her jaw and shell of her ear. "Would that be another expression of your love for me?"

"Oh, baby, _yes_," she choked out, her strokes even harder and faster now.

"Fuck," he groaned, unable to stop the expletive this time. Her voice was already high, like tinkling bell, and he was barely touching her. But she was starting to grind herself along his thigh. Even through his pants he could feel how hot she was.

"Do you like this, lady? Giving me pleasure?" he crooned in her ear while he finally pulled his other hand from behind his head to grasp her waist—once again, above the shirt. He pressed her down harder onto his thigh, and she choked out a gasp.

"Sam!"

"I'm so close, honey girl," he informed her, thrusting faster now that she ground harder against him. He wished he'd yanked his pants and boxers all the way down so he could really feel her, but she was inexperienced in this, and they would hopefully work their way up to that eventually. "Your hand feels amazin', all soft and hot and perfect. You're my perfect lady, Mercedes Jones."

She let out a squeak, turning her head so her mouth could find his. She sucked on his bottom lip, her hand increasing speed and pressure in time with her grinding, and Sam lifted his hips to aid their impending orgasms.

"God, if this is how your hand feels, I can only imagine—" He cut himself off, aware his thoughts were starting to get very graphic. During his private times, he imagined all sorts of things right before he came. Saying them out loud now might completely turn her off from wanting to explore more in the future.

"What do you imagine?" she asked against his mouth, her voice cotton soft.

"I don't wanna scare you off," he said.

"But if it'll help _get you off_, tell me," she returned, some of her sass creeping into her tone, and it made Sam chuckle.

"My brave lady," he commended, kissing her gently even as he pressed her down roughly onto his thigh, making her gasp. "You sure you want to hear how I imagine sliding inside of you between those thick, pretty thighs of yours, feeling you hot and wet as you cling around my cock, watching your breasts bounce and jiggle as I pump into you, hearing my name broken in your mouth 'cause I'm lovin' you right? How the sight of you bein' stunning in your pleasure and I'm the reason for it is the biggest turn on ever? How much I want to do that for you and I can't wait until I can, but I will until you're ready?"

"_Baby_…"

Both of his hands framed her face as they kissed, wet, dragging glides of lips and tongue featuring long shares of breath. He came with a deep groan against her cheek, his load shooting over her hand and his shirt, and she shuddered long and hard against his thigh mere seconds later, the spot she straddled growing hotter and damper than it'd been. Her body completely relaxed on top of his, and their kisses became languid as their breathing slowed and evened while the remnants of their orgasms flowed through their bodies.

"Mercedes?" he asked after a minute. She grunted in response, burying her face into his neck. "Are you okay?" He stroked her back soothingly.

"Yeah," she answered, sounding dazed. "That was…"

"Beyond amazin'," Sam determined, kissing the top of her head.

Mercedes laughed. "Really? If that's the case, I might not make it through our first time!"

His heart pumped through another mighty surge of love. "That convinced I'm gonna be your husband, Miz Jones?"

She snorted, but flicked soft, shy eyes at him as she climbed off of him and the bed. "I'm gonna, uh, go to the bathroom real quick."

He grinned at her, especially since her eyes avoided his exposed, yet softening cock. "Normally, I have a tissue or something to prevent making a mess."

"I don't think that would work for me?"

He smiled wider and licked his lips, knowing his personal preferred method for cleaning her up, but realizing that might make her uncomfortable now that the haze of lust had come and gone. Nevertheless, she narrowed his eyes at his expression and shook her head.

"I don't even want to know!" she declared, going to the drawer to get new underwear and shorts.

"I'll tell you one day," he promised. "Or _show_ you…when you're ready."

Mercedes ducked her head and started for the door, hugging her clothes to her chest.

"Mercedes?"

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "Yes?"

He covered himself with his hand in deference to her modesty, but didn't tuck himself back in since he still had to clean himself. "Are you sure you're okay? You didn't feel too pushed or pressured?"

She smiled softly and approached the bed, kissing his forehead tenderly. "I feel incredibly loved, and I hope you feel the same."

He closed his eyes and nodded, love and humility closing up his throat too tightly for him to speak.

"I'm glad." She kissed his forehead again. "I love you. Be right back. Do you need me to bring you anything?"

He shook his head, eyes still closed.

"Okay."

He didn't open them again until the door clicked shut behind her. He stared at the ceiling, blowing out a cleansing breath, and started formulating a preliminary invitation list in his head.


	25. Holding On Is Letting Go

**Title:** Holding On Is Letting Go  
><strong>Author:<strong> bana05  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Mercedes Jones/Sam Evans  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Entirety of _Glee _S5  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Glee_ ain't mine, unfortunately; otherwise, Mercedes would have a harem and Grammys already.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sometimes letting go is the best way to hold on.  
><strong>Author's notes:<strong> As Samcedes and_ Glee_ Season 5 ends, so too does "So June"! Thanks so much for reading/reviewing! Please forgive any errors and enjoy!

* * *

><p>There always seemed to be a celebration of some sort every time Mercedes and Sam ended things; and then she had to laugh there was even an "every time". However, this "time", though, didn't feel nearly as oppressive or even as final as the first two, and she suspected that had much to do with them behaving like they hadn't ended at all. They still touched: little caresses here, hand squeezes there, cuddles and snuggles that clung just as tightly as ever. The others would throw wistful looks their way, but Mercedes ignored them. She'd heeded their concerns and let Sam go, but she still had one more night to hold him close.<p>

The Farewell/Happy Birthday, Sam! Party they'd held in the Hummelberry loft had ended thirty minutes ago, but Mercedes and Sam were the only ones returning to the brownstone. Brittany decided to sleep in Artie's dorm since he was going to show her some of the film he'd been editing and how long would it be before she saw him again? She'd meet Mercedes at the brownstone tomorrow morning to go to the airport together, her bags already packed since she'd lived out of her luggage for the past two weeks. And Blaine decided he'd be there to console Kurt over Mercedes' departure, which Mercedes thought was a pile of BS and she'd given Blaine a huge, long hug over his consideration.

The subway ride was quiet between them; and although there were plenty of seats in the car, Mercedes and Sam opted to curl around a pole and each other. His chin rested on top of her head and his fingers curled and relaxed into her shirt at the base of her spine. She would nuzzle her cheek against his heart every now and again and squeeze her arms about his trim waist, needing to feel as much of him as she could until she couldn't touch him anymore. They let their breathing sync and their embrace say what words might miss.

When they reached their stop, Sam tangled their fingers together and led the way out of the car. Once reaching the street, Mercedes hugged his right arm and rested her head against his strong biceps as they continued on to the brownstone. There were a few cars on the road, a few shouts of excited revelers even though it was a Wednesday night/Thursday morning. Sam vocalized a beat, tapping his left fingers against his thighs, and Mercedes sighed. She'd miss this. She'd miss New York, how it smelled like trash and international foods and Sam's body wash. She'd miss all the concrete and asphalt and Sam's flannel shirts and boyish grin. She'd miss car honks and cusses and Sam's humming video game soundtracks as he prepared for bed. She'd miss how it could feel claustrophobic because of all the people and tightly packed buildings yet so safe and secure when Sam wrapped his arms around her. She'd miss how there was a taste of exhaust and metal and hotdog and pretzels in the air and how Sam still favored cherry lip balm because she still did.

Mercedes unlocked the door to the brownstone. Suitcases lay in wait at the bottom of the stairs. Both she and Sam spared them a brief glance before looking at each other. He appeared so downcast, his usually bright green eyes dull, mouth sunken, cheeks tight against the bones of his face. Mercedes cupped his jaw and he leaned into her grasp, wrapping a hand about her waist to pull her in closer.

"Can I hold you tonight?" he asked.

She kissed his stubbled jaw and nodded.

She preceded Sam up the stairs, his steps loud to her ears, heavy and final, like an inevitability that couldn't be avoided despite best attempts. They both saw to their toilet individually; but when Sam reappeared, putting on his sleep shirt as he did, he froze as soon as his head cleared the neck.

Mercedes was wearing very little, a camisole that couldn't disguise the fact she wasn't wearing a bra and shorts that were barely longer than underwear. She saw him visibly swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing. His eyes roamed her body, creating sparks along her skin wherever his eyes touched, and she grinned at him a little.

"Can you take your shirt off? And your pants?"

"Yeah," he said. "But, what are you doin'?"

She shrugged. "I want to hold you with as little between us as possible, if that's all right?"

He nodded. "Okay."

She took a deep breath as he disrobed, her eyes never leaving his. When he was down to only his boxer-briefs, Mercedes rose onto her knees and held out her hands to him. He grasped them, climbing upon the bed until they were both kneeling. Mercedes squeezed his fingers and he quirked a smile at her.

"Thank you for such a great birthday party."

"Thank you for such an amazing farewell party."

"Mercedes?"

"Yes?"

"I really hate sayin' goodbye to you."

She nodded and lifted their hands, kissing his knuckles. "I hate it too."

He exhaled slowly and tightened his fingers around hers. "What if we don't get another chance? What if…I meet someone? What if _you_ do? You say I'm gonna be with other girls like it's a given. But what if some guy comes along, all established and good looking and could take you out and spoil you the way I never could. What then, Mercedes? Or what if…like with Finn…"

His voice had broken on the name, and Mercedes squeezed her eyes shut at the very real possibilities of all the scenarios. She clasped their hands to her chest. Just the thought of losing Sam so permanently—either through marriage to someone else or death—had each beat of her heart aching as if it were ramming futilely against a brick wall.

"Are we making a mistake?" she gasped out, panicked. "Am I not believing in us enough?"

He bit his bottom lip and shook his head, tightening his fingers around hers. "Our relationship is like McConaughey. We wouldn't be able to have it or enjoy it the way we want right now, even though I know we belong together. You're off to do amazin' things, and I still have to figure out my next steps. And honestly? As much as I love you, Mercedes I'm gonna need to offer you more than that if I'm to be your husband."

"That's all I need," Mercedes promised, but Sam smiled and shook his head again, kissing her forehead.

"Love is the foundation," Sam said. "And we have a pretty big one there, but there's so much more. _You_ deserve so much more."

"So do you," Mercedes insisted.

He exhaled slowly and showed a wry grin, resting his forehead against hers. "You know why I had marriage on the brain so much this go around? Because you are everything I could ever want my wife to be. You support me. You encourage me. You make me laugh. You frustrate me somethin' fierce! But you love me even more fiercely. You protect me, comfort me, shelter me, feed me—both literally and spiritually. You make me better. It's no surprise my model dream came true with you by my side. You're all of God's blessings, Mercedes Jones, and my next dream is to make you an Evans someday."

Mercedes buried her face into his neck, unlinking their hands to hold him flush against her. She was too overwhelmed to cry, his words sounding like vows and affirmations of a future. When Sam set his mind to something, there was little anyone or anything could do to keep him from it. She should know—she had _multiple_ firsthand experience of his dogged pursuit. But the stakes were higher now. Forever was on the line.

She'd never wanted him to succeed at anything more in her entire life.

"I'm not ready to be anyone's husband, Mercedes, not even yours—_especially _not yours," Sam continued, large hands now caressing her back soothingly. "But when I am, I'm gonna do this right. I'm gonna do right by you, Mercedes Jones. Next time we get together, ain't nobody breakin' us up but the Grim Reaper."

His speech had gotten more relaxed and drawling the more he spoke, but it wasn't with the slur of sleep. Passion had infused his voice, the conviction of what he was saying so powerful even Mercedes trembled from it.

"I want to feel you," she whispered against the pulse point in his neck. "I _need_ to."

He held her tighter.

"No," she said, pulling back. "I mean _feel_ _you_."

The confusion scrunching his face transformed to shock when Mercedes whipped her camisole off to reveal her nude torso. Her nerves being what they were, she immediately pressed herself into him again and squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling slowly when his arms settled about her waist.

"You didn't have to do that, Mercedes."

She nodded against his heart. "Yeah, I did. I'm not ready for sex, still," she maintained. "But I can't leave without you knowing how much I love and trust you. And I can't have you be so vulnerable to me and not even attempt to be vulnerable too."

He tangled his fingers into her hair at the base of her neck, massaging her. She relaxed under his ministrations and stroked his flanks in return. This wasn't so bad. It was actually comforting to feel his warm skin against hers. He was firm, solid, security made flesh. Why did it take her leaving him to find this courage?

"Mercedes?"

"Yes?"

"Can I love you like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can I express my love for you without any clothes on? I know you're not ready for sex, and I respect that. But remember what you did for me? After the candles…can I do that for you?"

Mercedes pressed herself harder into Sam's chest, taking his request to her heart. After the candles was the only time she'd touched him in that way, primarily because Sam wouldn't let her do so again until he could return the favor. She hadn't been comfortable doing so, not trusting herself or her body's reactions around him, and part of her could even admit she was scared he wouldn't find her pleasing. She knew intellectually that fear had no root in reality, but her man was a model surrounded by gorgeous women all the time. She couldn't compete with that. However, that wasn't on Sam. That was on her.

"I still leave in the morning, Sam," she reminded him.

"I know," he replied. "But you're here now, and I want to love you. Will you let me?"

"Won't this just make it harder for us to say goodbye?"

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "But at least we'll have one last great memory before we do."

She smiled, and then it morphed into a naughty grin. "That confident are we, Mr. Evans?"

He smiled in return and cradled her face in his hands. "In my ability to love you? Absolutely. I'm always certain about that."

Closing her eyes, Mercedes pressed long kisses into the heels of his hands. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes," she said, nervous, yet anticipating.

Whatever she thought he'd do next, resting his forehead against hers hadn't been it. It was as if he were breathing her in, and Mercedes remained still to let him get his fill. But when moments passed and he still didn't move, she grew anxious and shifted her weight from one knee to the other.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm just thinkin', that if you decide not to wait anymore and I'm not the one to—"

"Shh," Mercedes soothed, stroking his muscular back. "We have a deal, don't we?"

"Yeah, but I thought you'd be my first, and you weren't," Sam said, though there was no censure. "Life has a tendency to fuck with plans."

"I'm sorry," she said, her throat closing on the tears her aching heart was shedding. "I wish I'd been your first too."

"I'm just, you know, dealin' with possibilities right now," Sam murmured. "Like, I know I'll care for you and cherish you if your first time is with me; but I reckon if that can't be, you should know how you should feel before you have that with someone else."

She pulled back and framed his face in her hands now. "Did you feel cared for and cherished your first time?" His responding shrug sent tears down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his thumbs. "Oh, my baby…"

"It's all right—"

"It's _not_!" Mercedes growled, tearing now but with rage instead of sadness. "Dammit, Sam! I'm just—just so _angry_! How could—? My sweet Sammy—!"

He hugged her, whispering nonsense atop her head, but she vibrated with a fury so strong she thought the bed shook underneath her. Now she understood why he'd said it would be a first time for him too. Nobody had yet to make love to him.

"I love you," she whispered against his heart. "And I'm sorry—"

"It's not your fault."

"Why can't I be ready? I want to be ready for you. Why?"

"You need forever." He squeezed her. "And we're not there yet. But if you do change your mind about that, make sure _you_ are _really ready_, okay? I don't care how much you love that person. If he respects you and loves you, he'll wait."

"Same for you, Sam," Mercedes said, pulling back to look into his green eyes. He closed them and clenched his jaw, a tear sliding down his cheek, and she kissed it away. "You are wonderful and loving and deserve to have someone cherish you for you, not just for the body you have."

He nodded, clenching his jaw harder. "Nobody's gonna love me like you do."

"No, they won't," Mercedes agreed, "but that doesn't mean someone else can't love you just as deeply as I do."

Sam shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Not good enough. They'd have to love me more."

"That's a tall order," she said, arching an eyebrow.

"You set the bar, Miz Jones; I just abide by it."

She giggled at that and he smiled, dipping his head to lightly brush their lips together. She curled her fingers into his hair at his nape, and he held her so closely it was as if he were trying to meld her into him.

"I'm gonna miss these lips," he groaned against her mouth, tugging on her bottom one with his teeth.

"Yours too," she returned. "God, do you know how to kiss…"

He moved those kisses down her neck, sucking the skin over her pulse as his hands slid down her back to grip her bottom. His stubble tickled but Mercedes moaned, arching her back, and whimpered when she felt his hardness burrow into her belly. She felt completely surrounded, groaning at the sensation.

"Sam," she whispered as he kissed her shoulder. He cradled her to him as he coaxed her to lie on her back, keeping them close until they were fully supine. His lips found hers again, and her legs automatically opened to fit him between them.

Sam smelled like summer, bright and vibrant. His touch felt like sunbursts along her skin, and she panted at the heat growing within her. Not even when he pulled back to look at her did she become chilled. The power of his gaze distracted her from everything, including whatever unease she could've felt. And when he stroked her from collarbone to navel, the awe in his eyes made hers soften and fill with more tears.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, voice as tremulous as the hands that caressed her belly. "Baby, you're so beautiful." He sank his face in the curve of her neck and inhaled deeply. "Even your scent is beautiful."

He let his nose follow the path his hands made earlier, but then went below her belly button to band of her shorts and paused. He then looked at her.

"Am I okay so far?"

She nodded, combing her fingers through his hair. "You're perfect."

He gave her his endearing crooked smile, his fingers drifting along the skin right above her shorts. "I'm far from that."

She smirked at him. "So says the model."

"Former model," he corrected, his smile fading as he regarded her seriously. "I saw a lot of hot girls, but they couldn't hold a candle to you. You're my star."

He then kissed the flesh right below her belly button, making her whimper and turn into putty. She space between her legs became damp and sticky, a sensation that she'd become quite familiar with Sam. She wasn't embarrassed or frightened by that now, but she did yelp when his nose pressed against the sensitive button nestled there.

He jerked back immediately. "Sorry! Too much?"

She blinked at the ceiling and shook her head, her hand gripping the pillow above her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, rising so they were face to face again. "I mean it—the minute you're uncomfortable, I stop."

Nodding, Mercedes smoothed her palms along his chest, her thumbs pressing into his nipples so he hissed and groaned. He pulled back and grinned at her.

"You're bein' naughty, Miz Jones."

"Hmm, and here I thought I was just horny."

His eyes darkened. "Horny, huh?"

She shrugged coyly, dragging her palm slowly down his ripped torso. "A hot, nearly naked guy on top of me? A girl gets all tingly."

"Tingly?" Sam repeated, inhaling so deeply his chest and stomach expanded. Feeling his muscles ripple made her moan softly, and he smirked at her. "That make you tingly too?"

"Uh-huh," she replied, letting her hand continue its southward journey to the top of his underwear. Their eyes locked, but her eyelashes fluttered when his hand settled back atop her panties.

"How about if I make you sing too?" he asked, his fingertips edging just underneath the band of her panties. "Would you like that?"

"Only if I can make you harmonize with me," Mercedes answered, her own fingers grazing the hairs hidden behind his boxer-briefs.

Nodding, he kissed her, taking off her shorts before letting his fingers learn the feel and shape of her most secret place. Mercedes grasped his length, reacquainting herself with it. The veins were still there, the head of him slick, the shaft of him thick. He grunted and thrust into her small palm while his digits made a ring around her soft, inner lips.

"You're so wet for me, baby," he whispered into her ear. "How is it you smell like butter pecans?"

She would've answered him if she'd remembered how to talk, but the tingles had overtaken her entire body. Her strokes had no rhythm along his hardness, but Sam's groans and grunts meshed well with her mews and sighs. She turned her face and their lips drifted along each other, but they didn't kiss. Kissing meant closed eyes, and the yearning in Sam's was too compelling to ignore.

"May I slip a finger inside you?" he asked.

"Will it hurt?" she asked.

"I'd never intentionally hurt you," he answered. "And you're so wet; I could probably get two in without any problems."

Mercedes groaned and bucked, making them both hiss. "_Saammm_…"

"You'd like that?" he asked, pressing his middle and ring finger to her opening. "Two of my fingers inside you? Having you clench around them as if they were my dick? But you know my dick is thicker, don't you? Squeeze me, baby."

She did and he moaned, kissing the corner of her mouth.

"That's my girl," he praised.

"I'll always be your girl, Sam," she promised.

"Mercedes…" He sighed, touching their noses together. "I'm yours forever."

She squeezed him harder at his declaration and opened her legs wider so his fingers could enter her. "Please, babe," she cajoled, undulating her hips to further entice him.

Their lips met as his fingers slid inside of her, and she immediately clamped down around him. They were long, and the sensation of them inside of her made Mercedes gasp with pleasure. There was no pain, just the easy thrusting of Sam's fingers combined with his thumb on her nubbin. How he knew just how to touch her, she'd never know; and his soft moans in her ear as she squeezed and pumped his length spurred her on further.

"Does it feel good?" she asked into his neck, swiping her tongue along his Adam's apple. It bobbed against the muscle, and she suckled upon it, feeling his groan vibrate against her lips. "You feel good," she continued, not waiting for his reply. "You feel so good inside of me, babe."

Sam braced his unoccupied arm next to her head, palming her crown as he lay atop her and thrust into her hand. Their eyes connected, her free hand cupping his cheek. He barely blinked as he rocked his hips, the head of him gliding along her hairs and lower belly, and his face contorted as if in pain before he nipped at the heel of her hand.

"_Mercy_," he intoned lowly, like a prayer, and she trembled at the reverence of it. Her heart grew heavier, as if all the love she felt for him weighed it down and pumped her blood harder. Feeling bold, she grasped him and brushed the head of him against her knot, causing them both to hiss.

He pulled his hand out of her to grip hers around his member. It was wet and sticky because of her.

"Baby, don't tease me, not with this," he begged.

"I'm sorry," she apologized with a sincere pout, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I just want to feel you."

He was visibly shaking above her, and she released his length to hold him to her. His weight was substantial and welcome, and he buried his face into her neck. Their bellies kissed as they breathed, and soon their lips followed the same action; but when he began grinding his special place against hers, Mercedes yanked her mouth from his and gasped loudly.

"_Oh, my God_!" she cried, and Sam's breathless laugh in her ear had her clutching his neck with her small hands and his hips with her thick thighs.

The entire length of him slid against the full length of her, his hairs chafing the insides of her thighs. Her nubbin ached, full enough to burst, as did the rest of her. Eddies of pleasure invaded her entire body, turning her mind to euphoric mush. All she knew was Sam and the love she felt for him.

He kissed her cheek sweetly and linked their damp fingers together, holding them over her head. His eyes caught hers again, full of intensity and purpose, as the middle and ring fingers of his right hand stroked the ring finger of her left in time with his thrusts. She nodded, tears trailing from her eyes, and a corner of his mouth rose before he bent to kiss away her earnest yearnings from her cheeks.

Soon, their hips matched in rhythm and it wasn't long before her body quaked and his breaths escaped in winded gasps.

Their shouts of release echoed in the room, followed by complete silence.

He smiled at her once they settled down from their peaks, smoothing tendrils of her hair from her sweaty forehead with his thumb. The air in the room was thick with their passion; she could almost taste it. She liked it.

She loved him.

Sam kissed the space between her brows and she closed her eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Blessed," she replied, eyes still shut. She stroked his back. "You?"

"Renewed."

She nodded. "Good."

Another moment passed before he left the bed, Sam nuzzling her nose with his when she whimpered at his loss. It wasn't long before he returned, and a warm washcloth settled on her stomach. He pulled the crotch of her panties aside and cleaned her, his focus completely on his task while hers was on him. His tender caress between her thighs had her sighing, and he kissed the hair along her pelvic bone.

"I didn't taste you like I wanted," he said, "but maybe it's for the best. I don't think I'd be able to let you go if I had."

"Think I'd taste like butter pecan?" she asked with a little giggle.

"I think you'd taste like love," he said with a half-smile. After one last caress of the cloth, he returned to the bathroom. Mercedes stood from the bed, legs a little unsteady, and took off her soaked panties to just sleep in her shorts. She was debating whether to put on her camisole again when Sam reappeared, and he came to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

"Are you okay?" he asked against the top of her head.

She nodded, deciding to forego the camisole. She liked the feel of his skin against hers. "I need to rinse out my underwear."

"I can do that. My underwear is soaking right now, actually." She made a strangled squeak and he chuckled. "What?"

"You touching my panties!"

"Baby, I just got through touchin' a lot more than that. Hell, I'd rather they not soak at all and you let me keep 'em, to be perfectly honest."

Her cheeks flamed at that. "Sam!"

He palmed her stomach fully and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"Dirty underwear!"

"Your love juices ain't dirty, Mercedes Jones, especially not the ones I cause."

"But, like, what would you do with dir—_oh, my God_!"

He was laughing hard as he hugged her close and buried his face in her neck.

"Ya nasty!"

Instead of denying it, Sam grasped her chin and turned her face so he could kiss her. She shifted in his hold so they were chest to chest, her nipples grazing his skin as she stood on tiptoes to deepen the kiss. He kept her steady, strong arms bracing her, as his tongue stroked along hers. If she could stand here and kiss him for the rest of her life, it would be a life well lived.

They broke apart with a puff of air, Mercedes still pressed close to him because she couldn't bear to let him go a moment sooner than necessary. "Well, if you're keeping my panties, I should have something from you. Although, I don't think I can wear anything of yours without ripping it."

He side-eyed her. "Are you dissin' this goddess body you got?"

She snorted even as she blushed at his compliment. "No, but you are skinny, with your chicken legs," she teased, smoothing a palm down a slim, yet muscular thigh.

"They're _strong_ chicken legs," he groused, but kissed her nose with a smile. "As for what to give you that's mine? How about my guitar?"

"No."

His eyes widened comically, no doubt surprised by her swift and emphatic refusal. "What? Why?"

"You want to give me an instrument—one that you _adore_, by the way—that I can't even play?!"

"I adore the guitar and I adore you," Sam said. "Besides, you can learn to play it; and then when you perform, it'll be like I'm right there with you."

As touched as she was, Mercedes still couldn't accept. "That guitar got you through the darkest parts of your life, Sam."

"Yes, so I think it should have some bright days too. Besides, with the Treasure Trailz money, I can get me a new Seagull. Been lookin' at the Entourage for a bit. It's a pretty thing, let me tell you."

Mercedes took his word for it, since she knew little about guitars, and squeezed his waist. "I still don't know how to play."

"I can teach you!" Sam exclaimed, rushing to the far wall where his guitar sat ready in its case. Mercedes slid under the covers on the bed, not wanting to be too exposed though Sam clearly didn't have any problems with it. He tuned the guitar, muttering something about how annoying it was to break in new strings and a sarcastic "Thanks, Rachel!" before climbing onto the bed with his back resting against the headboard.

"Well, come on! Just one quick song, I promise."

As tempted as she was to look at her phone for the time, the brightness in Sam's eyes had her smiling and settling between his legs. She could sleep on the plane.

Sam helped her get into position before setting the guitar in her lap. The wood of it was cool against her breasts and belly compared to the warmth of Sam's chest against her back, but the instrument felt sturdy and solid—much like Sam.

"I have the perfect song I wanna teach you too," he said, strumming a chord. "It's the Beatles. I know you're not their biggest fan, but they wrote some pretty awesome songs for guitar."

"You're really giving this to me?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes," he said. "You already have my heart, which is my love. This guitar has been my hope and my light. There's nobody else I'd trust more with it, actually."

She scrunched her face, peering at him. "You give me something lovely and sentimental like a guitar and you get a pair of damp panties? My spirit isn't sitting right with that!"

Sam arched an eyebrow and smirked at her. "What are you talkin' about? You left me a whole damn album about how you feel for me. Like I don't know _Park and Bark_ is one big ole love letter to one Samson Evans. Girl, _please_!"

She glared at him, both at him affecting one of her speech patterns and for calling her out. "Some of those songs were written when we weren't even together!"

"We're not together _now_ and you still love me," he replied with a definitive strum on the guitar. "Ha!"

She sputtered out a laugh, unable to maintain her faux outrage. "Boy! What am I gonna do with you?"

"Learn this here song, little lady," he said in an exaggerated country-western drawl. "It's called 'And I Love Her'. Because I do."

With his hair-roughened cheek pressed to hers and his chin on her shoulder, Sam taught her the simple, yet poignant song. Just as the sky started brightening through the window, Mercedes strummed the song while Sam's voice glided along its lyrics. He'd even recorded it on his phone, the first time capturing a few bum guitar notes, her whispered curses, and his chortles. But the second, although a little stilted, was mistake free.

He kissed her cheek. "Soon as I get my new Seagull, we'll have Skype guitar lessons, how about that?"

"I love it," she said, kissing his lips. "I love you, Sam."

"I love you, too, Mercedes."

Sam left the bed to pack up the guitar and when he returned, he curled an arm around Mercedes' bare waist to have her lie atop him.

"I gotta be up in like two hours, Sam," she said on a yawn.

"Well, that gives me two hours to hold you until who knows," Sam said against her temple. "I plan to make the most of it."

Mercedes didn't argue the point, merely snuggling into his body. He linked their fingers together, pressing a kiss to their knuckles, then set their joined hands atop his heart. She promised herself no tears when they said goodbye. She'd treat this parting as a "to be continued" instead of a finality.

She grinned then, because that was _exactly_ what this was. Their story wasn't finished. They had many pages to write after this.

_However—_

"Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Those plans better not include a marriage proposal."

"I make no promises."


End file.
